


Wait for the Moonrise

by Lifeinahole



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dark One Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold, F/M, Lieutenant Killian Jones, Princess Emma Swan, The Enchanted Forest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-23
Updated: 2017-10-25
Packaged: 2018-12-17 05:40:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 101,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11845080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lifeinahole/pseuds/Lifeinahole
Summary: Emma doesn’t remember who she was before she was found in the woods, but she knows that she has a few close friends, a good job, and a loyal cat that greets her every day when she gets home from work. What she doesn’t know, however, is that her past is about to catch up to her in the strangest of ways. She learns quickly that not everything is as it seems, not even her cat.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to the beginning of this madness! I hope you enjoy! Artwork by the absolutely lovely clockadile on Tumblr. I'm so overwhelmed that this day is finally here that I don't know what else to say besides "WAAAAHHHHH!"

The first day that Emma Swan remembers, she is barefoot, in nothing but a cotton nightgown that looks straight out of another world, and she is freezing. Her hair is icing over, the wet tendrils hardening in the frigid weather, and she’s vaguely aware that she should be worried about her toes, her fingers, _any_ of the exposed flesh that keeps getting colder by the minute. Instead, she focuses on putting one foot in front of the other, trying to push away the pain that shoots through each foot as she breaks twigs and finds sharp stones with her nearly-numb soles.

She stumbles over a root, crying out as she falls to the mud, her hands sinking into the nearly-frozen earth as a sob wracks through her body. Icy water seeps into the cotton under her knees, and it is tempting, so _very_ tempting, to fall the rest of the way, to curl up in the fallen leaves she spies to her left below a sprawling tree, and let the elements take her away from the pain and confusion she’s drowning in.

Emma Swan does not, in fact, know that she is Emma Swan. She knows that she is a woman, she is lost in a forest, she is in danger of frostbite, and she is losing hope fast as the daylight sinks closer and closer towards the horizon.

There are voices getting nearer, calling something out, and she’s incredibly worried for a moment that they’re speaking another language. Her ears are ringing, stopping her from grasping anything besides the sensations she’s focused on. Her limbs ache, her head throbs, and a drop of blood lands in the dirt under her; the rest of her mind is utterly blank. It’s just weariness and exhaustion blocking the path between her ears and her brain someone is close enough for her to see when she finally looks up.

“Miss, are you okay? Are you hurt?” He’s dressed in thick attire, his hands wrapped in warm gloves as he reaches for her. Emma’s shaking hand reaches out for him and she keens as her skin meets fabric. It almost burns, this contact between her frigid fingers and this man’s protective clothing. A green peridot ring on her middle finger glints in the low light that filters through the leaves, but her attention is quickly pulled away from this discovery when the second person speaks to her.

“Is someone chasing you?” Another man kneels next to her, muttering to himself, “Where the hell did she come from?” as he looks around the woods that surround them.

“P-please,” Emma stutters out. “Please, help me.” Her eyes meet those of the man kneeling next to her, his expression one of worry for this strange woman he’s just found out in the middle of nowhere.

“Come on,” the other man says. “We have to get her to the hospital.”

It takes nearly no effort at all for them to haul her up, and as soon as her body is aware that something like ‘safety’ is on its way, she loses consciousness.

The next time Emma Swan is aware of her surroundings, the light of the room she’s in is dim but harsh. There’s a steady noise to her right that starts speeding up the moment her eyes open to unfamiliar sights, and she blanches at the antiseptic smell in the air. Her extremities all seem to be intact, but her body hurts when she tries to move, which causes the noise to speed up again.

It all starts piling up, more and more, as there’s a needle stuck into her arm and tubes stuck in her nose and foliage in her hair and small sticky pads stuck to her chest that she tries to tug at, causing a shrill noise to sound from the machine that was almost soothing before. Emma shrieks without realizing that she’s making the noise, and the curtain to her left suddenly swishes away to reveal a gruff looking man with a sour expression, grousing at her to keep it down because some people are trying to sleep.

“Help,” Emma manages to say, her hands shaking too much to get a firm grasp on the wires connected to her body and tears starting to flow from her eyes again. The man’s brows draw together as he watches her helpless movements, watches the panic rising to her eyes, and he fruitlessly reaches a calming hand out to her.

“Calm down, lady. The nurses will be here in a second. But you gotta breathe, okay?”

She understands nurse, she understands the nature of infirmaries, and it helps calm some of the panic that seems to be clawing at her insides, but everything else is so foreign that the abated anxiety doesn’t last long.

“Why don’t you tell me your name and where you’re from until they get here, okay?”

It’s that which finally breaks the dam, and Emma’s absent tears turn to full-fledged sobbing as she admits in halting tones that she has no idea. None at all. As far as she knows, she is absolutely no one.

-x-

She’s sedated through the rest of the night, and when she wakes in the morning, she’s groggy and sluggish. Her eyes labor to remain open at any point that someone comes to check on her, and nearly her entire second day of memory is spent sleeping except for when she’s fed and someone comes to hum at the papers attached to the board at the foot of her bed.

When she awakens the next day, her head is clearer. She remembers immediately that she’s in the hospital, that the monitors she’s attached to are keeping track of her heartbeat, and the IV in her arm is keeping her hydrated. She’s told repeatedly that she’s lucky she didn’t get frostbite, and no matter how many times someone inquires as to how she found herself out in the woods, she has no answer for them. She is still, as far as she knows, no one at all. The name on her wristband currently says “Jane Doe,” although she knows now that’s just what they call someone they have no identification for.

It’s somewhere during the course of this day that Emma ventures to use her legs on her own. Any time before when she used the washroom, she was accompanied by someone holding her steady, but her need to use the facilities outweighs the amount of time it would take to call a nurse to her room during this busy time of day. Despite how unused her legs feel, she slowly shuffles from the bed to the bathroom in the corner of the room, smiling in triumph when she’s safely ensconced beneath her sheets again.

There, on the table beside her bed, is a small pot of flowers that wasn’t there before. Emma turns to the other bed, but remembers that the man that was staying in the room with her was released earlier that morning, so she has no one to ask where they might have come from, or from _whom_. With a small shrug of her shoulders, Emma leans over and snatches the card that sticks out above the flowers.

 _Get well soon, dearie_.

There’s no name to indicate who may have sent them, but the envelope that the small slip of paper was enclosed in has the first real clue she’s found in days: her name is Emma Swan.

As soon as she whispers the name out loud, she gasps, her head filling with the knowledge that her name is, in fact, Emma and that she’s twenty-five years old. Her birthday is in October, a matter of days prior to the current one, and while the information she remembers stops there, she’s relieved to know that she is someone. She has a name and an age and a date of birth, and that’s more than she had moments before.

Another day passes, and when Emma wakes up, there’s a small plastic bag with an assortment of items inside it. She looks at it curiously, until a nurse appears at her bedside, happily clicking her tongue at whatever she finds there and smiling down at Emma.

“Good afternoon, Miss Swan. Your vitals are all steady, and it looks like you’re going to be released today. Unfortunately, we weren’t able to get any of your belongings from your place, so we have some scrubs for you to change into when you leave, and I’ve given you a pair of my old sneakers so your poor feet aren’t out in that snow! We don’t usually see this weather until a little closer to winter, so you’re really lucky you didn’t freeze to death out there.” The nurse putters around her bed, checking various machines and instruments for their readings and writing the numbers down on her charts. She hums quietly and tells her to sit tight for a little longer as she exits the room.

The nurse is gone for less than ten minutes before she returns again, greeting Emma cheerfully once more. “This bag was left at the nurse’s station at some point this morning. It looks like some of the items from your wallet, and your keys! Still no wallet found, but hopefully that’s something you left at home.”

Emma nods, not really sure how else to react. She has a home here, a place where there are things that might spark more of a memory than what she’s gained in the last day (which isn’t far beyond what she discovered after opening her card). She reaches out for the bag when the woman hands it over, though, and treats each item as a treasure.

There is an identification card, her face smiling in the picture with all of her personal details. There’s her birthday and her address, but it also mentions her weight and hair color and eye color, which doesn’t produce any new knowledge so she moves along to the next objects. There’s another plastic card, this one with her name and a series of numbers printed on it. She’s informed that it’s a credit card, that if that’s how she chooses to pay for her stay that she’s welcome to do so. The nurse starts talking about health insurance, which she is clueless about, so she waves the woman away to let her explore in peace.

Not much else comes forth from the contents of the bag, however. Other than the ID and credit card, there’s a smattering of cash. The bills and coins all look like they were found out in the woods where she was found, as they’re dirty and wrinkled, some of the coins caked in mud. She grimaces, dusting off her fingers the best she can on a corner of the sheet and reaching for the keys. These, too, are a little dirty, but Emma takes the time to wipe them off. There are two keys on the ring, neither with any kind of identification, and she figures she’ll just use trial and error when it comes time to use them.

The next nurse who passes by, she asks for a piece of paper and a writing utensil. She still has a few hours until they’re going to release her, so she takes her time writing down everything she knows about herself, copying the name and address found on the ID in hopes of committing them to memory.

At some point, she’s given a change of clothes, and she helps herself to the tiny shower in the room’s bathroom. Emma is positive it’s the best thing she’s ever felt in her life when the hot water sluices down her body, washing away the remnants of dirt that they didn’t get off her from when she was admitted. She works gingerly to wash her hair, avoiding the wound on her forehead that’s to blame for her loss in memory.

After a thorough examination and another round of questions she can’t answer, she’s told she can go home.

When she’s officially released, Emma’s tattered nightgown is unceremoniously shoved into a plastic shopping bag. She places her belongings in there as well, holding the flower arrangement in the crook of her elbow as she signs her name with an unfamiliar flourish. She’s handed a payment booklet, instructions for what to do if she notices any further symptoms that the cold did any damage, and a list of emergency phone numbers to call if she needs help. She’s scheduled for a follow-up appointment, as well, to discuss her recovery with the doctor.

“Do you have any friends you can call to stay with you for a while?” a nurse asks. It’s not her fault. She’s not been there the last couple days that Emma has been staying, so she blushes furiously when Emma answers that she doesn’t even know if she has any friends.

A taxi drops her right off at the door to her apartment building, and Emma apologizes profusely as she hands over the grubby money from her bag to pay for it. Thankfully, it’s just enough, with a couple extra cents thrown in for a tip. Emma stammers another apology as she clambers from the back of the vehicle, and the man behind the wheel gives her one long-suffering sigh before he drives off once the door is shut.

With a sigh of her own, Emma turns around to look up at the building she apparently lives in. It’s five stories, by her count, and the number on her ID starts with a three, so she walks in and heads toward the elevator, pushing the button with a corresponding number and hoping against all other hopes that she’s correct in her assumptions.

The door marked ‘311’ is just as much a mystery to her as everything else, but she pulls out the second key. She sends up one more prayer as she tries to turn it, expelling her breath in a half-laugh as the key turns and she twists the knob. She makes sure to latch it again when she’s inside, and she leans back against the door before trying to figure out what comes next.

What comes next, it turns out, is a strange adjustment period, where Emma must figure out how to keep herself alive before she can figure out anything else about her life. Food is easy enough. There’s a smattering of groceries in the cupboards. The refrigerator is entirely barren, but she’s thankful for that. There’s no telling how long she was gone and the last thing she wanted to come home to was spoiled food.

Thoughts like those are surprising, whenever they appear. She has no idea how she knows what she does, but it’s almost a comfort that some form of muscle memory is at play and that she has instinct to rely on. She spends hours reacquainting herself with various items and their uses in her apartment. She’s not brave enough to try cooking food, so she decides to venture out.

She dresses in clothes from her own closet and dressers, finding a bare minimum selection of undergarments to choose from before sliding on a pair of jeans and a cream sweater. She slips on a pair of boots and goes to find a coat and gloves, still not wanting to expose herself much to the weather outside.

When Emma reaches for the keys and credit card she left on the table by the front door, she finds a purse sitting there as well. She swears it wasn’t there before, but it has a wallet inside, empty slots for her ID and credit card, plenty of cash, and a medical insurance card. She looks around, trying to figure out where the purse came from, but there’s no logical explanation. The bag she brought back with her is still on the kitchen counter where she left it. The flowers are displayed in the middle of the kitchen table, and suddenly she has a purse.

With how disoriented she was when she got in, maybe she just missed it. But she _swears_ she went over every inch and every item. She shakes her head again, clearing it of the confusion trying to build up as she grabs the cards and puts them back in. The strap gets hefted onto her shoulder in a gesture so familiar she’d think she was doing it her whole life, and at least she figures she’ll have something new to explore as she eats by herself.

Out in the hall, she almost slams into another person coming or going to their own dwelling, and she’s met with an eyeroll as she focuses on the other woman.

“I see you’ve still not learned to watch where you’re going, _Miss Swan_.”

“Sorry,” she mutters, moving to edge past this stranger and down the hall to the elevator.

“That’s it? No witty comeback? Emma, are you okay?” The other woman raises an eyebrow as she gets a look at Emma’s forehead, the bruising around the gash now dark purples, stark against the still pallid color of her skin.

“I uh, I don’t know? I don’t know anything, though. Do you – well, obviously, you know me. But do I know you? Are we friends?”

The woman stares at her as if she’s suddenly grown a second head, her brows furrowing down as her mouth drops open.

“Um, sorry again, I’ll just go.”

“Emma, wait. It’s Regina,” the other woman says, raising an eyebrow in question. “My name is Regina. You really don’t remember me?”

Instead of verbally confirming this fact again, Emma just shakes her head.

“We’ve lived next to each other for as long as I can remember. And while I wouldn’t call us besties, by any stretch of the imagination, I like to think of us as acquaintances who would call each other if we got injured or something.” Even behind the irritation in Regina’s voice, there’s some level of camaraderie under the surface.

Emma has no idea what ‘besties’ are, but they must not be very enjoyable by the way Regina’s mouth twists around the word. She has no idea what to say in response again, so she just makes an ‘o’ shape in what she hopes is a non-committal move.

“Why don’t I treat for lunch and you can tell me what happened,” Regina suggests, changing her course to walk by Emma’s side instead of heading for her own apartment.

-x-

“And that’s it,” Emma says as she finishes her, admittedly, extraordinary sounding tale. Regina purses her lips in thought, taking in all the information that’s been handed to her and responding in exactly the way Emma has learned Regina responds to things in the very short span of time she’s been with her.

“Well, that was _stupid_ of them to let you go from the hospital with little more information than your name and shoe size. Do you need me to talk to Graham about time off?”

“Graham?”

“Right. Amnesia.” She taps her fingers on the laminate a couple times. “You’ll probably need some time off.”

“I don’t even know what I do for a living,” Emma mutters, letting out an exasperated sigh and picking at the food on her plate. She’s told it’s her favorite, if the proprietress is to be trusted. The grilled cheese sandwich is nothing but crumbs, but she’s taking her time with the onion rings on the plate. Beside her elbow is a steaming mug of hot chocolate, a perfect swirl of whipped cream sitting on top and a light dusting of cinnamon covering it.

She watches the whipped cream melt into the warm beverage as Regina chatters on about texting Graham and ‘paid time off.’ She nods whenever it feels appropriate, and answers the questions that are asked of her, but otherwise Emma remains silent for the rest of the meal. She dips a finger into the last remaining peak of cream and brings it to her mouth, but almost bites her own finger off when Regina yanks her hand towards her.

“I don’t remember seeing _this_ before,” she says, a sly smile on her lips as she eyeballs the ring that Emma has yet to take off.

“It was my mother’s,” Emma says quickly, knowing nothing about lying but the words at least sound plausible coming out of her mouth. Emma withdraws her hand immediately, dropping it to her lap and turning a little pink. She shrugs, her head tilting to the side before she looks down at the glinting jewel. A sense of warmth spreads through her, a smile just beginning to form on her lips, even if she doesn’t know why. All she knows is that she’s calmer than she’s been in hours. “So about getting time off from work?” Emma says soon after, wanting to draw attention away from things she can’t explain.

There’s a big to-do when Regina mentions something about Graham texting her, and she looks like a lost soul again, but the other woman quickly brushes it off, saying that they’ll just have to get her a new phone when they leave the diner.

The next half hour is spent picking out a phone and programming the key numbers into it. Regina tells her as she’s cautiously typing that the number for the police department is also her number for work. If Emma had an idea of what ‘too much money’ was, she would guess it’s how much she pays for the small device in her hands, her eyes popping wide at the amount. Again, it all must be knowledge from her past that leads the reactions because the piece of plastic in her hand is arbitrary, as far as she’s concerned, and so she hands it over and signs when told.

They walk back to the apartment complex, thankfully right down the street, and on the way they pass the clock tower above the library, and it chimes loudly.

“So strange,” Regina comments as they keep walking, with Emma doing her best to keep up with the other woman’s brisk pace. “That thing hasn’t worked in ages, but it started working a couple days ago out of the blue. No one knows why, or what was wrong with it.”

“Yeah, strange,” Emma comments back, even though she has no idea what’s up or down in this world.

Emma goes to bed that night straddling the line between aware and confused. She knows more than she did when she woke up, but she’s left with so many more questions. Regina assured her before she closed her door that Emma could call her or Graham if she needed anything, but how is Emma even supposed to know what she needs?

A noise of exasperation leaves her as she runs her fingers through her hair. Tomorrow is another day, and she’s hoping she has more answers than questions at the end of it.

-x-

A week after she’s released from the hospital, Emma returns to have her follow-up appointment with one Dr. Victor Whale. From what she can tell, and her instincts seem to be pretty accurate, the guy is a creep, but a harmless one at that.

First comes her physical health, which mostly consists of him poking and prodding at the healing cut on her forehead. The bruises are all fading, she’s eating and sleeping so her complexion looks better, and thanks to her scare in the woods, Emma has taken to carefully layering and paying fanatical attention to the weather channel.

Her mental health is a whole different story.

“Have you remembered anything new?” Dr. Whale asks as he checks the rest of her vitals.

Emma tries hard to not blink as he shines a light in her eyes. “Not much. I stopped by the police department to meet with Graham about some time off after I was released, and things like what I do for a living came back to me.”

“How about anything to do with how you ended up in the woods the morning of October 25?”

“No, but there are some days I dream that I’m wandering the woods again, and I wake up feeling like everything is tilted on its side. Does that sound weird?”

“Not really, no. Especially after what must have been a _doozy_ of a birthday party if you’ve lost all your memories in the aftermath,” Whale says. He’s joking, his grin stretching wide across his lips, and Emma tries to fake one back at him even though she’s still stuck with that churning feeling in her gut that says something isn’t quite right. Not with Whale – at least, not _directly_ with him – but with this whole situation. “Well, Emma. You’re in top shape, physically. I’m going to recommend you start seeing Dr. Hopper to see if you can’t unlock those memories. Whatever you went through, your mind has decided to lock them up tight. I’ll see you back here in six months for your check-up.”

-x-

It takes time for Emma to feel comfortable in her own skin. The bi-monthly trips to Dr. Hopper help on some level. Mostly, he’s good at uncovering her memories from childhood. They spent the entire first session going over her current mood and mindset, and even though the good psychiatrist knows that she can’t remember anything prior to the hospital, he’s still taking the time to poke around what he claims is her past.

“So, your file tells me that you were in and out of the foster system as a child,” Dr. Hopper starts during their second session. “What can you remember about that?”

“I don’t really…” Suddenly, her brain feels as if it was submerged in ice water, and a shiver works all the way down her spine. She blinks a couple times, partly to gain her wits and to also clear the tears that have gathered in the corners of her eyes. “I remember… Feeling lonely, a lot.”

“You’re remembering something?” The excitement in his tone is subtle, but Emma can still pick up on it. “Don’t push yourself, but tell me anything you can.”

“Um, okay,” Emma says, her voice shaky. She takes advantage of the glass of water that Dr. Hopper poured for her at the start of their session, and when she speaks again, her voice is stronger. “I remember some older kids taunting me about being an orphan. I can’t see their faces or remember how old I was, but they told me that I was found on the side of the road out by the woods.”

“This is progress, Emma. Good job. Take it slow and tell me as much as you can remember.”

Icy chill after chill races down her spine that day as Emma digs through her memories, with the help of Dr. Hopper’s limited notes on her past, and she remembers more of her early life than she thought she ever could. There’s the sparse bedroom with the hand-me-down toys and second-hand clothes. There’s the slow gait she would use when wandering the halls of the school, wondering if the number of steps she takes are greater or lesser than the amount of days until she’s shuffled to another foster home.

There’s the feeling of packing up her meager belongings time and time again, the expressions of pity on the faces of adults as she’s put into the backseat of a car and taken back to the group home. Again, and again, and again.

“How about we save the rest for our next appointment?”

With relief, Emma nods, gathering her stuff and making an appointment for two weeks to the day.

She’s continually asked if she remembers how she got in the woods, and with each appointment that the memories don’t return, Emma’s tone gets sharper and sharper. They stop asking after she goes in for her six month checkup with Dr. Whale, and he makes the mistake of inquiring if she recalls that moment.

“That day in the woods then, anything new that you remember?”

“Listen, can we assume unless I specifically mention it that I currently _don’t_ remember that day in the woods? Is that something we can agree on for the time being? If I remember anything, I’ll _tell_ you.”

Across the room, Dr. Whale taps the folder containing his notes on Emma against the counter and pastes on a grin. “Noted. Looks like you’re all good to go. Call us if you notice anything and continue your sessions with Dr. Hopper as long as you feel you need them.”

Looking just slightly put off, he exits the room, and Emma heaves a sigh of relief. It’s been six months, but she’s _finally_ starting to feel like a normal, functioning member of society here in Storybrooke. These appointments are the only things still dragging her through the wringer of the past, because work has been going well, she’s figuring out a system in her home life, and she got behind the wheel of the car that Regina claims is hers. To say that the first time trying to drive was rough would be an understatement, and she’s sure Regina has other words for how that little adventure went that would include “hazard” and “whiplash,” she’s sure.

But just as the wind is likely to shift without notice, so does Emma’s life, although she doesn’t realize it at the time and still won’t for a while.

It all starts when she falls into bed hours after she meant to, reaching sleep just as the streetlights outside are considering winking off and the sun is cresting over the horizon. She’s working herself to the brink of exhaustion, but at least it’s less time to brood about her missing past. Emma is asleep before her head even hits the pillow.

It starts with a dream.

She’s standing in a field surrounded by flowers. The dress she wears flows around her legs, the bodice fitted over her torso and bell sleeves hanging elegantly over her wrists. It could be white, or ivory, or a perfect iridescence to match the clouds. She can’t really tell, as she’s too focused on the flowers spreading in every direction. They’re all different – wildflowers of every shade and variety – all in various stages of blooming and barely shifting in the almost nonexistent breeze.

Sucking in a deep breath, Emma flicks her wrist on the exhale and all the delicate buds sway gently, shimmering colors as they wave back and forth like hundreds of metronomes. Carefully, she weaves between the blossoms, lifting the color from one and replacing it with another at whim, until the flowers surrounding her path are nothing but multicolor swirls.

In the distance, she hears someone call her name, equal amounts of fascination and exasperation in the smooth, male voice that comes across the field clear as day. In the midst of the flowers, he stands, but she can only make out bright blue eyes that sparkle with mirth. She feels happy, the warmth of the sun soaking through her dress and glittering along her skin. Feeling free, she easily snaps her fingers and returns all the flowers back to normal as she heads towards the figure in the distance. Affection leaks through the way he says her name, noticeable as she steps into the circle of his arms and feels his pulse against her cheek where it rests against his neck. He is as warm as his voice, the sun, and the feeling spreading through her stomach. Yet, all she can make out are those eyes.

When Emma wakes up, she remembers nothing of the dream, but her fingertips are tingling with pins and needles. It’s afternoon, but outside the warm cocoon of her blankets, there’s a chill to the room.

She wakes with the same feeling gnawing away at her stomach: the feeling that something isn’t quite right. It’s the same feeling she explained six months ago when Dr. Whale was asking her if she remembered how she ended up in the woods outside of Storybrooke.

No, of course she didn’t. She didn’t even remember her _name_ at that point. How could she be expected to remember how she ended up in a place that she’d be hard pressed to point out on a map if given the opportunity?

Now, she knows more about herself, but that feeling remains.

A gurgle from her stomach alerts her that it’s past time to roll out of bed and eat, and Emma’s scrambling for clothes to head down to Granny’s Diner for her usual and favorite lunch. All her other thoughts can wait until she has time to dissect them, for the time being.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guest artwork for this chapter my Tumblr's pompeiiablaze! Check out @clockadile's gif and artwork at her tumblr! Sexual situations and mentions of kidnapping to follow. Not at the same time. And welcome to the Enchanted Forest!

For almost as long as he can remember, Killian has been a friend of the castle. Liam, fifteen years his senior, starts climbing the ranks of the navy even before Killian is left in his care at age seven. With their mother recently passed and their father presumed dead after he disappeared one night several years ago, Killian is left in the charge of the palace workers because of his brother’s status.

It doesn’t take long for the princess to take interest in him, this newcomer just two years older than she, and Killian is thankful for it every day. His life growing up with Emma is one of constant adventures of the mind, and their imaginations take them to every corner of the known world, and beyond.

As they grow, so does his fondness for the princess. Emma, the beloved and respected heiress of the throne, becomes known for her own brand of mischief, but also for encompassing a deep well of love for the people of her kingdom. She earns the surname Swan after it’s shown that she exhibits grace in the face of the public, even if she moves more like a calf still learning to walk when behind the palace walls. As a bonus, Killian has also been witness to another characteristic she shares with the birds that bide their time in the garden fountains. When provoked, Princess Emma will not hesitate to snap at those she feels deserve it.

When Emma begins to show signs of magic, they bring in fairies to start training her and honing her skills. Killian watches in fascination as she creates delicate swirls of fire or water, as she manipulates the air and cascades a line of sparks around her in a circle. He watches as she learns to control not only the magic, but also her emotions, as the two go hand in hand. Only once does she singe the bushes in the courtyard when her temper flares, but that’s the day that her parents tell her that she’ll be expected to find a suitor to marry when she grows older.

Killian joins the navy for two reasons. The first is to follow in the footsteps of his brother, and the second is to somehow make himself more worthy of Emma’s attentions. It’s at the age of eighteen that Killian first entertains the thought that Emma might one day view him in a romantic light, however he is well aware of their difference in status. As it happens, his undeniable intuition and his organized nature make him valuable to the inner workings of the fleet from his position on the land, while Liam moves up from captain to commodore out on the open waters.

It doesn’t hurt, either, that the strategy position means Killian is never far from Emma. Under the king and queen’s watchful eyes, they not only grow together, but also begin a very long, drawn-out courtship. They spend every moment between their duties as royal and lieutenant locked in the delicate art of flirtation and subtlety. Still, it takes them much longer to develop from first kiss to full courting.

It’s during one of these moments that Emma tells Killian to meet her in the flower fields, and he finds her playing with the tendrils of her magic, the blooms changing all colors of the rainbow with her in the center of the beautiful chaos.

“Emma!” he calls out, some mixture of fondness and exasperation in his tone as he smiles at her antics. She’s beautiful in her tumultuous jubilation, her smile shining brighter than the sun above her. With a snap of her fingers, every flower in the field goes back to normal and she makes her way over to him. The hem of her dress is slightly darkened by the dew and dirt, but she doesn’t seem to notice or care as she wraps her arms around his shoulders and pulls herself close to him.

“You’re getting much stronger,” he comments as his hands go to her waist.

“That’s not why I asked you here,” she says, pressing her forehead to his as she sighs in contentment. “I’ve told my parents not to invite suitors to my birthday celebrations this year.”

His heart speeds up, but he tries to keep his tone calm as he utters one syllable of a question. “Oh?” It’s been years since their first kiss, their only kiss to date, but still he hopes more than he ever has before.

There’s another hum, and she opens her eyes as she drops back to her bare feet, her smile the very definition of happiness. “I’ve told them that I have an interest in someone that I’d prefer to explore.” Her right hand comes forward to stroke along his cheek. Her thumb playfully dips into the dimple in his cheek, deepening it further as his smile spreads wider.

From there they only blossom together, much like the flowers in their field. Every chance they get, they stroll in the gardens together, her arm linked through his, and talk of everything and nothing at all. They duck behind hedges to kiss, hiding from her parents as they explore the tender beginnings of intimacy. They go no further than kissing, as is only appropriate, but as the summer stretches towards autumn, Killian knows that this bond between them is real, and he wants it forever.

In the weeks leading up to Princess Emma’s twenty-fifth birthday, a lot of changes take place. Some of these changes, like the ones that Killian is involved with, are nothing but good. He’s still in a pleasant state of shock that Emma returns his affections, and he spends the time before her birthday celebration ball looking for the perfect, official ring for his bride-to-be.

Thankfully, the palace jeweler finishes the ring he commissions with only days to spare, and with the ring in hand, Killian requests an audience with the king. He only speaks to Emma’s father as a courtesy, as he wishes for the man’s blessing, even if Emma would marry Killian with or without permission. His own brother, as beloved as he may be, knows nothing of his younger brother’s courtship. It doesn’t help that Liam is gone for months at a time. How is Killian to sum up his fortunes in a matter of lines to be sent to the Commodore of the First Armada of the Misthaven Royal Navy?

The talk with King David is nerve wracking to the highest degree. It’s not just asking for a king’s blessing, but everything that they discuss once David settles into an armchair across from Killian.

“You’ve been a member of this castle since you were very young, Killian. You’ve worked hard to gain your rank with the navy. And if you are Emma’s choice, then I have no room to say otherwise, not that I would. For what it matters, you both have my blessing, and I’ll save the protective father speech for another day.” David holds up his hand when Killian opens his mouth. He would never _dream_ of hurting Emma, or ever leaving her.

“There are things you need to know now, to take into consideration as you head towards an engagement, and I’m sure you’re aware of some of it with your own military position.” He seems to weigh his words for a minute, rubbing a hand over his face as he stops just sort of sighing. “I almost wish I’d told you sooner.”

The king looks so serious, and suddenly so tired, that Killian fights to shift in his seat. “Whatever it is, your majesty, I am ready to hear it.”

“Of course, Killian. You’ve always been ready to jump into battles you can’t see,” David says amiably. His smile flashes quickly, before his expression reverts to one of concentration. “There is a prophecy we’ve learned of recently, in which Emma is the remaining hope for destroying the Dark One. He knows of this, and we’re afraid that he’s going to attack Emma in some way. We’ve enforced all the security around the castle that we can, but no plan is impenetrable. You understand that, don’t you?”

Killian nods, beginning to understand the delicate nature of this talk. “And I’m to help in this plan to defend the princess?”

“Everyone has a part to play here. Just stay vigilant at all times. If we can just make it out of this month unscathed, we have a chance of beating him. We’ve even called your brother’s fleet home to protect the shoreline. I just hope he’s back in time for the ball tomorrow night.”

At the mention of his brother, Killian _does_ shift in his seat. Liam knows nothing of his plans to marry Emma, and he still isn’t sure whether or not his brother will approve.

“By your expression, I take it Commodore Jones doesn’t know what has happened on the land in his absence.”

“Aye, your majesty. I’m afraid he’s a little behind on the events of my life.”

“Well, I hope this will give you brothers an opportunity to catch up when everything settles. Have you gotten a ring for her?”

At the switch of topics again, Killian’s smile spreads again. “Aye,” he says dreamily, pulling the small pouch from the inside pocket of his jacket and upending it for the king to see the masterpiece. King David takes it from his palm and holds it up, admiring the smooth band and the reflective gem.

“Not as ornate as I expected you to get, which means you’ve catered to Emma’s tastes instead of your own. You’re already shaping up to be a wise husband.” For the first time during the whole conversation, Killian finally relaxes enough to laugh.

He excuses himself a short time later, heading towards the princess’s quarters as if his body is naturally drawn in that direction. The birthday celebrations are still a day away, but he knows she’s taken to hiding out in her quarters to avoid the bustling masses. He inspects his uniform for wrinkles, or any sign of imperfection, as he walks. After all, he has much to discuss with his beloved.

_Love_. It’s a concept he never fully intended to discover, as his own family being ripped apart felt like a sign that he should keep his head at his station and never look for any of life’s pleasures. And then the princess tilted her head to consider him, and even at the tender age of seven, he handed over a piece of his heart to her. He, a simple son of a captain gone missing, orphaned at a young age, somehow worthy of the cherub-faced girl that grew up into a headstrong, intelligent woman.

He’s just about to tap on the door to Princess Emma’s quarters when he sees the door is slightly ajar and voices are speaking from within. He has every intention of moving down the hall a bit, to give Emma her privacy, but he hears Queen Snow’s voice echoing the information that King David has just passed along to him.

“We’re going to do everything we need to in order to keep you safe, Emma.”

“I know, Mother.”

“I want you to have this for the time being,” the queen continues after a pause. He’s tempted to peek through the opening in the door to see what it is Queen Snow is giving to her daughter, but he cannot intrude on their privacy that way.

There’s no need, though, especially from the princess’s shocked words that follow. “This – this is your wedding ring. Why would you give me this?”

A heavy silence falls over the two women while Queen Snow seems to gather her words. “Even the fairies are worried that the precautions we’ve taken aren’t enough. There’s going to be a protection spell over the castle the night of your ball, but it can only last so long. And the fairies, well, they can only make it so strong.”

Hearing this, and hearing the way the queen speaks of her worries so candidly with her daughter, the pit that took up residence in Killian’s stomach before his talk with the king grows a little larger. He leans his head against the wall and evens out his breathing, sending up a wish with each exhalation that they can all manage to keep the princess safe.

“With this ring, and the one I’m _sure_ is on the way from a certain young man that is enamored with you, maybe in the face of the worst case, you’ll always remember that we will _find_ you, Emma. We will _always_ find you.”

There’s a muffled sniffle, and he’s not sure which one of them it comes from, but he’s sure there must be an embrace involved.

"Okay, now that's out of the way, I do believe I'm off to the kitchens to see how the preparations are going for tomorrow night. You’ll join me shortly to check on all the details, yes?”

"Yes, I will. Thanks, Mother."

Killian pushes off the wall and quickly makes as if he was just walking down the hall, and it's as he's reaching the door that Queen Snow emerges from Emma's room.

"Good morning, Killian," Snow greets him warmly.

"Good morning, your majesty. It's a beautiful day for preparing for a princess's birthday, if I may say."

"Right you are. Oh, and I do hope you had a nice chat with the king," she says, a sly smile appearing as she turns just enough to look back at him. "Have a good day, Killian."

He stumbles over his farewell, taking a moment to breathe deep again before knocking on the door before entering.

"Who is it?"

"A dashing pirate, ready to steal you away and sail the high seas," Killian growls out as he sticks his head through the space. He moves further into the room, catching her eye in the reflection of the mirror on her vanity.

"Oh!" Emma feigns, pressing the back of her hand to her forehead as she spins in place on her vanity stool, "but who will save me!" They both snicker, with Emma dropping her hand as she rises from her seat.

"Good morning, love." He joins his hands behind his back, standing straight and trying to appear calm despite the roiling of his thoughts.

"And to you," she replies, moving to stand in front of him and reaching out to rub the pad of one finger down the detailing on his uniform coat. He's helpless from stopping himself when he reaches out and clasps her hand in his. He brings it to his lips, letting them linger on the soft skin on the back of her hand.

She hums, sounding content and happy as she looks at him with affection she can't seem to hide now that they've been honest with each other about their feelings.

"I trust you slept well?"

"I did, with all sorts of wonderful dreams about a certain set of lips and that spot you've just discovered behind my ear." She bites her lip after she says it, smiling so wide that her eyes crinkle up and a light blush heightens her coloring.

"I look forward to finding all the spots you enjoy as much as that one," Killian murmurs, careful to keep his voice low so if Emma's dressing maids are still anywhere nearby, they won't hear.

Emma presses forward, wrapping her arms around Killian's neck as she reaches behind him to push the door closed. "I wouldn't mind finding one or two of your sensitive spots, you know."

"You'll hear no objections from me."

“I only have a moment before I have to go help my mother,” she says, a furrow forming between her eyebrows. “Kiss me until I must go?”

“As you wish,” Killian says immediately, more than happy to attempt to put a smile back on her face before she heads off to deal with last minute details and party planning.

“The maids have all gone, if you’re worried about that,” Emma murmurs between meetings of their lips.

“That sounds like you want me to do more than just kiss you, love.”

"Maybe," Emma says coyly. She doesn't let him argue one way or the other, though, as she leans up again to capture his lips in a rough kiss. Her lips will be red if he lets her continue any longer, and her mother need not know what they've been up to, so Killian decides to take their little tryst in a different direction. Her gown is already laced over a corset, and they certainly don't have time to remove all those layers, so he improvises. It also gives him a chance to ask for something he’s wanted to try for a few weeks.

"Will you permit me to love you with my mouth, Swan?"

By the way her eyes darken and she sucks in a quick breath, he knows she's intrigued by the idea. They've not gone this far. They've barely touched each other at this point but there's something so enticing about the possibility of tasting her that makes him want it now, before he'll not get to see her again until they meet at the ball the next night. There's also a possibility that tomorrow will mean more than just the birthday of the woman he loves.

All those thoughts fly away, far _far_ away, when Emma quickly nods her head. Pulling him down for another kiss as she drags him over to the nearest chair in her sitting room. "How...?"

"Hold on, love. I've got to - "

"Killian, just pull - "

They both pause as they laugh, trying to find their way beneath the skirts of Emma's dress.

He bites down hard on his lip when he finally makes his way beneath the necessary layers. While he is twenty-seven years of age, he’s spent most of his time pining after Emma. The rest of the time, he’s kissed a lass here and there, but just as much as Emma’s kissed a lad or two, if memory serves. This right here, as he eases her knickers down, is something he’s only heard about from ill-reputable sources or saw in the illustrated guide a group of sailors brought to the tavern one day.

“Are you sure, Emma?” They’ve already wasted so much time just getting to this moment, so maybe they should just wait.

“Are _you_ sure, Killian?” The tone of her voice is all the answer he needs, but he makes sure to unbury himself for just a moment to see her face, to raise his eyebrow at the sass, before he ducks back under her skirts.

The stories he heard from other sailors fuel the moments that follow, as his lips brush against her heated skin. The soft _‘oh’_ he hears from Emma is encouraging, though, so he presses further. Her legs widen further, allowing him all the access he needs to finally taste her properly. Her body directs him, from that moment forward. Although her quiet sounds are muffled by the fabric over his head, Killian strains to hear every whimper and gasp, obeys when she tells him to stay where he is or move to a new spot, and groans against her in earnest when she asks for a finger to be inserted. It seems he’s not the only one that’s been seeking outside education in the matters of pleasure.

When her skirts suddenly disappear from around him and her hands find his head, Killian worries that he’s gone astray from her desires. He starts to pull away but she frantically commands him not to move, to not stop exactly as he’s doing, and it takes only a few more moments before he feels her climax taking her over the edge. Her breathing stops for a moment, just a few inhaled gasps taken in and held, before she clenches her thighs on either side of his head and holds him there.

His name is her quiet incantation for the stretch of time she’s immobilized, until all her muscles relax. He eases away, then, taking in the rosy tint that spreads from her cheeks, down her neck, to even the tops of her breasts. Emma’s head is resting on the back of the chair, a serene smile lighting up her whole face. Her hands, which had fallen away as she slumped back, surge forward to tug at his shoulders.

“No, no, Swan – “ She kisses him before he can stop her, and he watches with enjoyment as she pulls away just as quickly. She touches her fingertips to her lips, her eyes slightly wide at the taste of herself on his lips, before she smiles and kisses him again.

“You were marvelous, Killian.” Her voice is dreamy when she leans back and speaks. “I can’t even find words to describe what that felt like, but I assure you, you’ll be finding out soon how it’ll feel on you.”

He’s painfully hard in his uniform trousers, and Emma’s words don’t help one bit. But she’s already surely missed from her party planning, and Killian has his own details to see to, now that he’s helping tighten up security.

“I will look forward to that, my love. For now, you must see to your celebration.”

She deflates a little when she realizes he’s correct, and they work together to make sure her undergarments and skirts are all back in proper place before she checks her hair. The flush is still fading from her fair skin, but it can be passed off as exertion when she will have to all but run to the kitchens.

“I’ll see you tomorrow night,” Emma says as she kisses him softly after they’ve both freshened up a bit. They talk quietly, standing just outside the door to her quarters but still cautious of any who might be around.

“Until then, Swan,” he kisses the back of her hand one more time and bows over it, accepting her smile and the hand she places gently against his cheek as she returns the sentiments.

She’s gone in a flurry of skirts, after that, and Killian turns on his heel to go find the men he needs to talk to about the perimeters of the gardens.

-x-

Perhaps it’s due to Killian’s familiarity with the undecorated ballroom that makes it feel so much more amazing to walk through the double doors at the far end the night of Emma’s birthday. He arrives early, before a majority of the guests, though some have already been escorted in and are mingling with family members and friends. Killian walks the room slowly, greeting those he knows warmly and enquiring after their health before he continues his circuit.

There are troubling tales, even at such a festive gathering, as Killian overhears stories of people gone missing, or suspected kidnappings. He listens as carefully as his slow pace permits before continuing onward. These kinds of gossip are common, especially in the quiet moments before gatherings, and even more so when there’s such terrible darkness out beyond the walls of the castle.

For ages, the Dark One has lurked in the corners of the world, and the prophecy the king mentioned comes back to him, reminding Killian that Emma is allegedly part of what could bring Rumplestiltskin, along with the whole history - _centuries_ \- of Dark Ones down.

The beginning of the ball will consist of dinner, and so tables are situated through the entirety of the room. Killian walks among those to admire the details that Queen Snow and Emma have considered. The cutlery is all sleek and plain, much like Emma prefers, as are the plates and glasses at each setting. It’ll all be cleared away for the second half of the celebration, so that the guests can all lose themselves in the dancing and music.

He rests in this moment for just a moment, his finger gliding along the handle of the nearest fork before he goes to meet with the soldiers that will be patrolling and the fairies that will be guarding them. From that moment forward, the ball gets even more opulent as the chandeliers are lit and hoisted, as all the wall sconces receive their flames. The lanterns that were lit for early mingling are shuffled away until it’s time to douse all the party lights. Killian watches all of this, nodding in approval as everything falls into place for Emma’s wonderful day.

As the ball gets underway, Killian is somehow still amazed at how _busy_ he is the whole time. He takes one moment before the guest of honor joins, off to the side with the rest of the soldiers, to eat a quick plate of the princess’s favorite delicacies. He’s thankful for the distraction of his own assignments and that he needs to circulate amongst the guests and members of his own military; Emma’s had to spend so much time and attention on _all_ her guests that he’s not even had a moment to say hello properly, yet.

There’s a small break in the festivities, where the guests shuffle out of the way and servants replace them to clear away the tables and chairs, and then the small chamber orchestra sets up in one corner to begin tuning their instruments. It’s the midway point in the evening, and as beautiful as it all is, and as stunning as Emma looks, he’s able to breathe a little easier that they’ve reached this point. The wavering sounds of strings being tuned echoes around the ballroom for a moment before they quiet and the first true note begins.

The first dance at the princess’s birthday always belongs to the king, but Killian takes the chance to work his way closer by presenting himself to the queen for a dance. She smiles at him, that one that borders on matronly, as he bows low and holds out his hand. With the queen’s hand in his, they make their way to the dance floor to join Emma and King David.

Emma’s smile when she spots them could light the ballroom all on its own, and as soon as the first dance ends, King David gives him a knowing look and he cuts in on Killian’s dance with Queen Snow so that Killian can dance with his daughter. Other couples begin to join, forming swirls of color much like her favorite trick with the flowers, as dresses of all colors move around the floor.

It’s the first time Killian has a chance to really get a look at her, other than flashes of red from the corner of his eye as she moved from one dignitary to the other. Up close, he admires the fine details of the embroidery on her dress and enjoys the rustling of her skirts as they go through the movements of the waltz.

“You look absolutely stunning tonight, Swan.”

She preens a little at the comment, her eyes darting downward and her lashes fluttering as she graciously accepts the compliment. “You’re looking very fine yourself, lieutenant. Have I mentioned how much I enjoy the dress uniforms?”

“I know,” he says, full cockiness in her voice to make her chuckle in response.

“I’ll have to dance with a few of my guests for a while, but save me a dance or two before the end of the evening, yes?”

“Aye, your highness, I’ll save them all for you if you’d like.” He wants to reach out and stroke the curve of her cheek, to taste her painted lips, to whisper all her deepest desires against the shell of her ear. Instead, he repeats the same low bow for her when the song ends, giving her one meaningful look before moving away to fetch himself a drink.

He’s just finished a perimeter walk and checking in with some of the guards when a broad chest interrupts his path. He almost berates whoever has just run into him, but he recognizes that coat, and his eyebrows shoot up in surprise to see Liam before him. He’d _heard_ his brother was back but had yet to actually see him.

“Welcome home, brother,” Killian says, a smile breaking across his face as the older man pulls him into a bear hug. Killian slaps him on the back a few times, not only to further his greeting but also to remind Liam that he needs to breathe and that he’s hugging him too tight.

“Goodness, Killian. I couldn’t tell if they were feeding you too little or too much when I first saw you, but I do believe that’s all muscle you’ve put on. And here I figured since you took an assignment on land that you’d go all soft on me,” Liam says, the twinkle in his eye reminding Killian that he’s joking, but the barb still stinging just a touch.

“I may require that my mind be stronger than my body where I’m stationed, but I keep both very sharp, indeed.”

“Come, let’s talk about that positioning you suggested for the Second Armada outside of Arendelle.”

With one last furtive glance back at his princess, Killian lets himself be dragged away for talks of politics and military and naval strategy. Liam grills him on his choice to stay on land instead of going out to work his way through the ranks, and it takes a lot of patience for Killian to not talk back to his older brother in a manner unbecoming. Liam doesn’t question any more of his personal life, preferring instead to talk of life with his Armada or the rationing of treats among sailors to keep up morale.

It’s nearly half an hour before he can get back to the dance floor, back to Emma and that very fetching dress which he admires a little more each time he sees it, and when he’s able to slip in to be her next dance partner, he notices how much she perks up when she catches sight of him.

“Oh, thank goodness, it’s you. I’ve just had the most dreadful last few partners and I value my toes.”

“You’re only happy to see me so your dainty little feet don’t get squished by the uncoordinated men in attendance, then?”

“That, and because I happen to be rather fond of you,” she adds, smiling when he twirls her expertly and brings her back into the hold. “I saw you chatting with Liam earlier. Was it just me or were you wearing an expression akin to what I gather you’d look like if someone was stabbing you during the whole conversation?”

“Stabbing might have been less painful, love.”

“That bad?”

“Aye, which is why I’m much happier to be with you, right here, right now, instead of seeking out more thrilling conversations about the armada.” He’s thankful that the next dance step brings her close so he can whisper in her ear. “Plus, when we’re close like this, I can very nearly see down that dress of yours and I’m very hopeful that the black corset of yours is all lace and that I get to see more of it later.”

When the next move shifts them, Emma raises an eyebrow at him, otherwise staying silent, but he can practically hear her thoughts through that look. If he wants to find her maids mysteriously out of the way and the door to her antechamber unlocked tonight, he’d better be on his best behavior for the rest of the dance and evening or else neither of them will go to bed in good moods tonight.

“I’ll find you for the last dance of the evening,” she tells him, smiling a little as she says so and accepting his bow. “Go try to enjoy yourself a little, for the sake of my birthday?”

“Aye, your highness, I will do so.” He leaves the dance floor before anyone else can claim a dance with him, and heads back to the gardens for a breath of fresh air.

The security around the castle is impeccable, as far as he’s concerned. Every time he’s done a walk to check on them tonight, everyone has been exactly where they’re supposed to be. All the fairies, dedicated to their role in the realm, have been steadfastly homed in on making sure their dust and spells are all in order. When he’s reassured that everything they’ve carefully planned is still in place, he heads back to the party to mingle again. He tries to spend a little time with his brother, and even dedicates a little time to dancing with the ladies he’s met before, usually mothers of his favorite soldiers or friends of the royal family.

As promised, Emma appears at his side to save him from a dreadfully dull conversation about expense reports of some sort between Liam and another commodore. She’s clearly growing tired, but she’s still enjoying herself by the looks of it. She’s surprisingly affectionate for a public event, and over her shoulder, he catches sight of Liam’s questioning look. Before his brother can put any pieces together, he makes sure they pass behind a few more couples to hide them from view.

“For the record, as soon as I’m dressed for bed and my gown has been stored, I intend to send my maids away for the evening so they might have a little bit of an early night,” Emma says mid-way through the dance. “Just so you know, for security purposes, of course.”

“It’s important to know these things,” he comments, and longs to continue by teasing her, but the other couples dancing are far too close. Not only that, but another shift around a pair brings them side by side with her parents.

They both look approvingly at their daughter’s final dance partner of the evening, and he so hopes that when he sees them tomorrow, he’ll be betrothed to their daughter. The looks they give him before they spin away say they hope for it, too.

This time, when the song concludes, Killian makes sure to kiss her hand as he bows over it, making sure to whisper that he’ll be at her quarters just as soon as he can be, before they go their separate ways for the end of the celebrations. He watches a short time later as the princess is escorted back to her rooms, followed by her parents, and the ballroom clears of all the guests. He wants to make sure that the changing of the guard goes off without a problem, and he bids his brother a good night afterwards as they go to their own rooms.

Waiting for the palace to quiet down afterwards is one of the hardest things to do, and Killian has to make sure that he times it just right so that no one will be awake to question why he’s wandering towards the princess’s rooms. After what seems like too long of a time, he eases out of his room and shuts the door firmly behind himself. He has to take a roundabout way that seems to take him in the opposite direction at first, just to be certain that everyone else is where they’re supposed to be, before he heads swiftly to her chambers.

The antechamber door is, in fact, unlocked when he tries the handle. He makes sure to secure it after he enters, making his way back to her bedroom with a candle to light the way. He almost drops it as he turns from shutting the door behind himself, as Emma is lounging as casually as she can, wearing nothing but the lace corset and skirts that leave very little to his imagination.

“No, no, darling. I do believe it’s supposed to be _your_ birthday, and I’m supposed to have a present for _you_. This feels quite backwards to me.”

“I’m pretty sure we can turn this into a mutual gift, so get over here already,” she commands. He sets his candle down on her nightstand to join the ones she already has lit before moving to stand in front of her. She sits up when he does, leaning into his hand as he caresses her cheek and closes her eyes. He wants to tell her so many different things right now, like how much he loves her and how beautiful and poised she looked all evening. He wants to say that there’s no way he deserves her, but that he would also possibly expire on the spot if she rejected his proposal. Thinking of the ring makes him consider getting it now, asking her now, but instead he leans down to kiss her.

Emma takes the initiative in undressing him, removing his suspenders from his shoulders and pulling his shirt from where it was tucked into his trousers. He bends to quickly remove his stockings, and marveling at the plushness of the ornate rug beneath her bed before he’s brought back to reality.

“Killian, I’d like to love you with my mouth, like you did to me. And then I want you to make love to me.”

“Darling, are you sure you don’t want to wait?”

“You said you wanted to give me a present. And this is all I can ask of you tonight.”

“Turn around, so I might help you out of that lovely undergarment, then.” She smiles at him, this one a combination of her excitement and her love for him, and he basks in the warmth that they will be irreversibly joined very soon. She stands and turns for him, unfastening the skirts from the waist of the corset and tossing them to the side. She’s forgone her own stockings, and he realizes she really _wasn’t_ wearing anything else under the skirts when he gets his first unhindered look at her pert, perfect backside. His hands stray, briefly, to run the backs of his fingers over the smooth skin he finds there, before he focuses again on loosening the laces.

When enough of the corset is loose, she unhooks the front, letting the two halves part while her back is still turned towards him. She stands there, haloed by the glow of the candles, nothing but bare skin from the nape of her neck to the soles of her feet, and Killian isn’t sure he can breathe. This is _such_ a monumental moment for them, and will only be overshadowed by the moment he asks her to be his wife (as soon as he can remember how to speak again) and the moment he does truly become her husband.

And then she turns toward him.

He thought he was breathless before, but she’s now standing before him, naked, and moving to remove the trousers that have become far too confining in the past couple minutes. While she eases them over his erection, he finally moves into action and yanks his shirt over his head, letting it fall to the floor just as he steps out of the bottoms.

While he drinks in the sights of her skin, she does the same to him, reaching out to touch his chest in awe, to run her fingers down the hair she finds there, until her palm is closing around his cock and he can see stars behind his closed eyelids.

“Killian,” she calls to him softly. “Touch me.”

He opens his eyes to see the lust burning in hers, and he starts by tentatively reaching out to cup one of her breasts, marveling in the way it feels and the taut nipple pushing against his palm. She pushes into the contact, moaning as he gently massages and brings up his other hand to do the same to both at once.

She lets him keep up at that for a few minutes, with her fingers gliding up and down the length of him in a featherlight touch, until she guides him back to her bed. She kneels on the mattress, but when he tries to sit up, she pushes him back and instructs him how she wants him to lay. Once he’s in position, Emma seems to steady herself before she reaches for his cock again.

“You’ll tell me how you like it?”

He can’t verbalize, not when her breath is blowing across the head of him, so he nods and watches with wide eyes as she eases the foreskin down his shaft and closes her mouth around the tip.

“Bloody hell, Emma,” he whispers, because it’s the only volume his voice can reach that doesn’t sound like he’s shouting in pleasure in his own mind. She hums around him, and he quickly tries to think of anything to stave off the orgasm that’s edging up on him. “Emma, Emma my love, you can’t – I can’t…” He’s on the brink of climax from having his cock in her mouth for less than a full minute and if he doesn’t stop her now, this evening will end rather quickly. And he’s so been working on longevity during his private pleasure times, too. All wasted, in the face of reality.

He shifts, careful to ease her away from his delicate part before putting her in the same position he was just in. She looks adorably befuddled, but also worried, so he moves to quickly reassure her.

“It felt too good, Swan. I wanted to be able to last for the rest of your requests, and I can’t do that when your mouth feels like heaven. Where on earth did you learn to do that wondrous thing with your tongue?”

“I practiced kissing once I was old enough with the maids of mine that are also my age.” His eyes widen at this information, but she smirks at him. “Don’t act so scandalized. _You_ practiced kissing with my maids once or twice, as well. Anyway, they’ve given me great amounts of advice on how to please both ladies and men.”

He shakes his head, marveled as always at this intrepid princess that he fears he may always be two steps behind. With no further response to really give, he turns back to the idea of bringing them both pleasure, and decides to revisit what he tried on her yesterday.

“Killian…” His name melts on her tongue as he makes his way back down her body, stopping to kiss and love her breasts for a moment now that there’s nothing hindering him from doing so.

“Hush, love,” he speaks as he trails kisses down her stomach. “This will allow me to give you the gift you’ve requested once I’ve calmed my blood a little.”

She tastes sweeter today than she did yesterday, and he eases her thighs further apart as he dips his tongue into her. He brings his hand up to rub at her clit, incredibly glad for whichever lad it was that told them all of the pleasurable spot to ensure a woman orgasmed. He must move in the correct combination because Emma arches off the bed with a gasp, the moan that follows much more wanton than he’s ever heard in their months of tentative exploration.

Without breaking contact for long, he trails a finger down to slip inside while he moves to focus his lips on her clit this time. He finds a rhythm that she seems to appreciate, with the way her hips thrust against his mouth in time. As best he can without stopping, Killian looks up the length of her body, feeling his own arousal renewed at the way her hands massage at her own breasts, the way her head tilts back into the mattress as she makes noises that urge him to keep going. Knowing she’s about to scold him for stopping, he does so anyway, only to slide up the length of her body to kiss her.

“Are you positive you want to, Emma?”

“I’m sure,” she says, nodding. He sees the lust in her eyes, but he also sees the love she’s not spoken of yet.

In preparation, he adds another finger to the one that was already working in and out of her. He just doesn’t want to hurt her. By the looks of it, though, especially with the flush that spreads down her chest, he’s fairly certain she doesn’t know what pain is right now. Regardless, he makes sure when he replaces his fingers with the tip of his penis that he goes as slow as he can without diminishing their pleasure.

He’s barely fully sunk into her when he feels his climax building again, and it doesn’t help when Emma clenches around him. They both react to that – Emma with praise for how good he feels and Killian with obscenities at how he’ll surely die before this is over.

“I don’t care if you last long tonight, Killian. I’m so close. We’re both so close. Move and touch me and let go.” Sure enough, she’s covered in a sheen of sweat, one that has little to do with exertion and more to do with being so close to climax for far too long, especially if she was as aroused as he was when he entered her room.

He moves – slow, deep thrusts that get harder as he gets surer that he’s not hurting her in any way. He knows he’s not when Emma reaches down to grab his backside, guiding him in again and again. He remembers what else she said, working a hand between them and finding her clit with sure fingers to bring her over the edge. When she pulls him down roughly and holds him in place, he lets her take what she needs, bending to kiss her when she asks him to.

Feeling her come around his cock is an entirely different experience than feeling it around his fingers. As soon as her climax begins, it sets off his, and he sucks in a breath and holds it as he presses into her. His face gets buried in her hair and it’s only once she starts to come down from her own that Emma reminds him to breathe as her hands slide up along his spine.

The air whooshes out of him, and he groans as an aftershock of hers causes one of his own. It’s so tempting to let himself collapse on her, but he remembers that he likes her alive and not smothered, so he rolls off to the side.

They both remain immobile for a minute, their panting breaths echoing around the large room as the sweat dries on their skin. She rolls to him, then, her bare breasts pressed against his chest as she drapes herself over him, and she kisses him long and deep.

“That may be the best birthday gift I’ve ever received,” she tells him once she pulls away.

“It’ll supposedly get better once it can last longer,” he comments, enjoying the way she laughs as she moves off the bed to retrieve a towel she had folded on a nearby settee. Once she’s cleaned herself, she runs it over his softened cock to clean up some of the mess before balling it up and hiding it at the bottom of her dirty clothes. She fetches a clean nightgown for herself while Killian turns down the bed for them, figuring it’s the least he can do at this point. He considers proposing before they turn in for the night, but when Emma climbs back onto the bed, he can see the exhaustion pulling her down.

In the morning – he can make her breakfast and propose in the morning.

For now, he climbs in next to her and pulls the covers over them both. Before sleep can claim them, he remembers to wish Emma a very happy birthday, and whispers his love to her as she closes her eyes.

“So perfect,” she reiterates, murmuring her gratitude in return. He’d be offended if he didn’t know her so well to know she’s awful at expressing her emotions in words. Instead, she curls even closer to him, placing a kiss on the nearest skin she finds before drifting off to sleep.

Killian wakes before she does, with the sun filtering through the doors to her private balcony and just lighting upon Emma’s sleeping features. They’re still close – not as fully fitted together as they were when they fell asleep, but his hand is trapped between their pillows by Emma’s hand. He doesn’t mean to wake her, but she stirs as soon as he shifts his hand, and she scoots closer to relinquish his hand in favor of wrapping her arms around him instead.

“Good morning, my pirate,” she says in greeting, and he smiles down at her.

“And good morning to you, my princess.” She accepts the kiss he gives her, sighing happily as their lips move against each other. Her hand wanders across his bare chest, and he watches the cogs turn in her head as she considers his still-nude state. “Ah, ah. No, my love. You still need some rest. I’m going to make you breakfast, however, and bring it to you here and as soon as you’re nourished, you can think about ravishing me within an inch of my life again, aye?”

“Oh fine,” she responds, but it’s barely more than another sigh as she snuggles against him. “Just stay with me until I fall back to sleep, though.”

“Of course, Swan.”

She takes one more kiss from him before settling back down against her pillows. He waits until her breathing evens out before carefully extracting himself from the covers. He tucks them back around her, making sure she’s warm and safe before he re-dresses in the clothes he wore last night.

The palace is still asleep, so he makes his way back to his quarters with no issue at all, ducking into his chambers and heading straight for his dressing room. He catches sight of himself in the mirror when he enters, his grin wide on his face as he takes in the disarrayed hair and the stubble coming in. He rubs a hand over his face, considering shaving before heading to the kitchens but deciding it can wait.

He shucks his dirty clothes and pulls on fresh, making sure to comb his hair and clean his teeth before he retrieves the ring and makes off for the kitchen. Some of the staff are likely to be awake, which means he won’t be making an utter fool of himself in an attempt to cook, which actually calms him from the nerves that have built over his plan.

If any of them are surprised to see him, they don’t show it. But they happily take the gold he offers in exchange for setting up a beautiful breakfast setting for the princess. They all buzz with excitement when he pulls the pouch from his pocket, and they all help arrange the ring in such a manner that the food surrounds but doesn’t touch it. The plate is topped with a cover to keep everything warm, and then they all but push him out the door so they can start spreading their gossip about the princess being engaged.

Between the kitchen and the princess’s rooms, Killian counts his steps and his blessings, fully sure that he could spend one, maybe even two, hundred years on this earth and still not love anyone as much as he loves Emma. With careful maneuvering, Killian gets through the door to the antechamber and shoulders his way through the door he propped open when he left.

Surprisingly, the bed is empty, and Killian surmises that she may have woken up to relieve herself. Perhaps she woke and decided to dress herself – one of her favorite activities when she gives the maids a day off. But when he sets the tray of food down and goes looking for her, he finds each room empty. She only managed to throw her corset in the vicinity of her dressing room the night before, and nothing else in there has been moved. He places a hand on the sheets where he left her and finds they’re still warm, so she couldn’t have gotten far.

Outside, the sun goes behind a scattering of clouds, with the wind gusting beyond the doors. One of them creaks a little, which catches Killian’s attention immediately. They kept those closed and locked the night before. He rushes over, seeing the broken hinge immediately and starting to worry. He turns back to the bed, his eyes a little wild, his mind racing a little faster.

The clouds move away, and the sun shines back through the windows at his back. The sun catches something, and Killian moves forward, feeling as if he’s suddenly moving below water as he reaches out for the glistening strand on the pillow where Emma so recently smiled lovingly at him.

It’s gold. It’s a single strand of pure, spun gold, the signature mark of a madman. He barely has time to consider his next move beyond waking the castle and sounding the alarm. He stands in place, clenching and unclenching his fists, maiming the strand in his hand as he does so, and then his limbs finally catch up with his brain.

The guards outside the doors to the king and queen’s chambers are understandably alarmed as Killian comes running around the corner, but when he gets close enough, he tries to slow and calm the blind panic and anger coursing through him.

“Are the king and queen awake? It’s the princess.”

Both of their faces show alarm at the news and one immediately ducks through one of the double doors to report. Killian is waved in a moment later, just as Queen Snow is tying the sash to her robe and joining where King David is already situated with various parchments.

“Killian, what’s happened?”

“She’s gone,” he says, holding out the crumpled strand of gold to them and trying to maintain his composure. He wants to scream, or cry, or find a sorcerer to take him to Emma right this second, but he can’t do _anything_ without knowing what course of action they want to take next.

King David lifts the strand, his face hardening at the evidence, while Queen Snow covers her mouth with her hand and her eyes well up with tears.

“David, our Emma. We have to find her.”

“We will, Snow. We will,” he says, determination strong in his voice as he shoves aside the reports he was reviewing and grabs several blank scrolls to send out as messages.

“Killian, I need you to go wake your brother. We’ll need both of you to round up as many men as you can to start searching. If he was able to break in, maybe he couldn’t use magic and they’re still in the area. But we have to move fast. Go _now_ ,” the king urges, and Killian immediately turns on his heels to follow his orders.

Liam is just pulling on his boots when Killian practically bursts through his door with barely a knock, and he gives his brother a very pared down version of what’s going on to get him moving quicker. They make their way back to the strategy room to receive their next assignment.

“We’re in the process of sending messages to our neighboring kingdoms for assistance, and to keep their eyes open for any possibility that he’s had to take her without using magic. All our best trackers are out there already, but I want every inch of the kingdom searched. Commodore Jones, I want you to assemble as many of your men as you can to start searching the northeast corner of the village and woods. Take your brother with you.”

He moves on to the next commodore and then to the captains after that, which leaves Killian bristling just slightly that he’s been tossed in under his brother’s command, not even with his own captain, instead of being seen as the man that was about to ask the king’s daughter to marry him. He can’t even fuss about it, however, as Liam ushers him from the room to gather the men and start their search.

It takes less than an hour for every military man, every castle civilian, and every volunteer they could round up to be searching the entire kingdom. They fan out, going door to door to either ask for clues or ask for them to join the search. They comb the woods, inspecting every bent leaf and broken branch.

Half of Killian is glad to be moving, glad to be keeping busy, but shortly after they begin their campaign to find Emma, Liam is called back to launch a portion of his armada to go to other kingdoms. He takes the news in stride, redoubling his efforts and almost refusing to turn in for the night when they start losing daylight. He has to be verbally reprimanded by his captain, reminding Killian that he’ll be of no use to the kingdom if he freezes to death overnight or injures himself without light to search by.

He tries to go back to his own room, first, but he ends up in Emma’s when that’s where his feet carry him. The lady’s maids have been through the room after it was turned upside-down for any other clues. The bedding has been replaced, the bedding they made love on for the first time less that a full night ago. Her corset and wardrobe are tidy, but the tray of food that he set down is still there, and Killian realizes that there’s no cushion to break the fall that’s about to take place.

Lifting the lid slowly, there’s the ruined breakfast, with the ring still pristine in the center. He lifts it, feeling his heart clench in pain in his chest as he stares at it in the low light of the candle he brought and the last of daylight beyond the windows.

The sun will rise on an empty room tomorrow.

“Killian?” He turns quickly at the soft-spoken voice, but it’s not his beloved magically returned. It’s Queen Snow, standing at the doorway and looking lost and bereft. Her chin quivers as she sees what he’s holding, and she slowly strides toward him with a silent request to see it. He doesn’t speak, just holds it out for her to take as he swallows hard, swallows back the tears that are now threatening to break free.

“I will find her,” he promises, his voice barely more than a growl.

“We will,” Queen Snow echoes, looking sadly down at the gem in her hand. “We just need to be patient.”

“I was gone barely a half of an hour,” he tells her. The fight drains out of him, then, and he drops onto the closest chair. “I shouldn’t have –“ He realizes what he’s said, and what he was about to say, just a moment too late, but the queen doesn’t look offended to know that he spent the night with her daughter.

“You couldn’t have stopped him. He’d have found a way to get past us eventually.” She places her palm on Killian’s shoulder, a gesture to comfort a son, and he fights harder to keep his composure. The queen needs strength right now, not to hold him together.

“May I ask a favor, your majesty?”

She nods once, also clearly trying to hold back her emotions.

“Would you mind holding onto that, until I can find her and bring her home to you?”

“Oh, Killian…”

“Please. I’d rather it be somewhere safe, and it’s only fair since the ring she has is yours instead of mine.”

At that, Snow’s lips barely crack into a smile. “I was sure that I’d be getting that back this evening. You know she’d never have kept it if she was showing off yours.”

“Aye,” Killian agrees, feeling that tightness in his chest all over again. “I know.”

“Try to get some rest. The maids have a special tea blend to help you sleep if you need the assistance tonight. I’ll have one of them take away this tray.”

“I’ll carry it down,” he tells her, waving her off from touching it. “I just want another moment before I retire for the evening, if that’s all right with you.”

Instead of a response, Queen Snow reaches out and pats his shoulder again, only bidding him a goodnight when she reaches the door so he can only slightly make out that her voice is breaking when she says it.

He hangs his head when he’s alone again, trying to rein in his emotions, tamp down the anger that boils hot in his blood, swallow down the panic that he’ll never see his almost-betrothed ever again.

“I promise to find you, Emma. No matter what it takes.”

-x-

Nearly a month into their searches, they recall the military forces out in the realm and order them home. Killian is beyond frustrated at this point, knowing that they all _know_ it’s the Dark One and that he certainly wouldn’t be hiding in some bloody village right under their noses. The only clue they ever found was in the southwest quadrant of the woods, where a scrap of what could’ve been Emma’s nightgown was found on a bramble bush. There were no other signs that she might still be anywhere nearby.

In that time, Killian becomes more vocal about his doubts that this will lead to any breakthroughs in finding the princess. He becomes belligerent on more than one occasion, leading to a meeting with the king and queen so very different from the ones he’s ever had with them.

“Killian,” Queen Snow says gently. “We’re getting disturbing reports back from your captain about your recent behavior.”

“We know this is exasperating, waiting for news and hoping for results, but it _is_ the best way to look for Emma right now. We have eyes and ears all over this kingdom, and several others, all looking for the same purpose. We just have to wait for him to slip up.”

“He’s the bloody Dark One. Don’t you get it? He’s not _going_ to slip up because he knows the game better than we do!”

“Killian!” The king almost sounds scandalized, as Killian has never raised his voice at them, has never spoken so candidly to them before. And never has he sounded so defeated, either. “You are a lieutenant in the navy under your captain’s command. And if that’s not good enough, then it’s under my command. I _need_ you to be doing your job and not squabbling with every superior you come across. Do you understand me?”

There’s a war over his emotions for a moment. There’s some shame, that he spoke to the man and woman who have only ever cared for him in such a manner. But he never had a father, and he isn’t looking for one now. Still, despite the comment that wants to come out at David’s tone, Killian holds back and steels himself.

“Aye, your majesty.” He salutes, not meeting either of their gazes as he exits the room. He nearly knocks Liam over on his way back to his quarters.

“Slow down, little brother,” Liam says, a gentle but genial smile on his face. Killian scowls, a combination of the pet name and his brother’s ability to smile about anything right now.

“It’s _younger_ brother, and I’m retiring for the evening.”

“It’s the middle of the day, Killian. Why – hey! Come back!” Despite Killian’s attempt to exude his unwillingness for company, Liam follows him, going so far as to push into his room and shut the door behind them. “What the blazes is your problem, Killian?”

“My problem? The princess is _missing_. She’s been kidnapped by the vilest man in the realm, and we aren’t trying _hard enough_ to find her. _That_ is my problem,” Killian snaps, removing his jacket and whipping it towards his wardrobe.

“The king and queen are using every resource available to find their daughter. You know how much she means to them. They wouldn’t cut any corners where she’s concerned. Why – Killian, calm down, brother. Why are you so worked up about this?” Liam just barely manages to dodge one of the boots that Killian sends sailing across the room, followed by the other.

“I was about to ask her to marry me!” Killian finally yells. “And not in a couple days, or a couple hours, Liam, I was on my way back to her room with the _bloody ring_.”

Silence falls over the room after his outburst, and Killian sinks onto the foot of his bed. He runs a hand through his hair, scrubs them both over his face as the full weight of the last month sinks into his bones and soaks up his dwindling hope.

“Killian, I didn’t… I didn’t know. Why didn’t you _tell_ me?” Liam’s voice is quiet and serious when he asks.

“When should I have told you, brother? In a letter sent to your ship with the monthly reports? Or how about when you were shrugging off your leave? You’ve barely been around since making commodore, and there was no good time. Even at the ball you wanted to talk about my strategy moves and _rations_.”

Liam moves slowly to sit next to him, folding his hands in his lap as he looks at his brother. “You should’ve said something sooner,” he says, and Killian immediately stands in agitation.

“Oh yes, because that would’ve gone over well. Tell me, Liam, how you would’ve reacted if I told you six years ago when this all began that I was in love with the princess and wanted to vie for her affections?”

“I would’ve said you’re bloody stupid, but to go after whatever it is you wanted.”

“Even at the expense of my military career?”

Liam sits back and thinks about that, and Killian can see it all coming together in his mind. “The strategy position kept you in the castle. You could’ve been out captaining a ship and making twice as much already,” Liam says, as if Killian didn’t already know this.

“I don’t give a damn about the money, you fool. I care about Emma.”

“ _Princess_ Emma,” Liam commands, and Killian grits his teeth.

“She’s Emma to me, as she’s been for many a year while we’re alone. You can’t come back here and expect to suddenly control me. You’re not _my_ commodore, Liam. I’m barely even your brother at this point. Just some lieutenant you’re in charge of at times, and nothing else.

Liam stands, suddenly, marching straight for the door with anger puffing out his chest. “Sod off, _little_ brother. You’re not the only one who has feelings around here, and maybe it would do you good to remember that.”

He slams the door when he leaves, and Killian is only disappointed because he would’ve enjoyed applying force to something other than his uniform at this moment.

The next morning, he’s summoned to the king and queen’s antechamber again, and his stomach sinks when he walks in to see Liam in attendance, as well.

“Your majesties, Commodore Jones.” He bows to each of them in turn. “You wanted to speak with me?”

Snow sends a worried glance to David and Liam, but remains silent.

“We’ve decided that you’re to be suspended from the navy until such a time that you can learn to follow orders again. You are commanded to stay out of the strategy room for a length no shorter than one month,” David says, his face set in stone as he speaks. Liam turns away when Killian looks at him, opting instead to gaze out the window at the back of the ante-chamber as snow begins to fall outside.

He seethes inside. “Liam, what did you do?”

“He didn’t do anything, Lieutenant.” Calling him by rank after telling him he’s suspended is a slap to the face, especially when they’ve always called him by name. David takes a deep breath. “You’ve hounded our advisors and told them they aren’t looking in the right places. You’ve taken liberties with authority figures lately. You’ve spoken to a commodore with absolutely no respect. Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

Killian stands perfectly still. He doesn’t look at Snow, whose eyes are pleading with him to say anything to make the situation better. He doesn’t glance again at Liam, who has still not turned his attention from the window. His jaw clenches and he averts his eyes to look somewhere over the shoulder of a man whom has always received his respect. Instead of answering any of them, he bows low and turns to leave.

“Killian, wait,” Snow calls out, but he’s out the door and doesn’t stop until the door to his rooms is barricaded shut.

It takes him less than two days to formulate his plans. He works around the clock, sleeping in shifts so he’ll have the energy to enact his idea once it’s time, and otherwise staying locked away. Someone from the kitchen always delivers his meals, but he never opens the door for them, preferring instead to wait until they’ve given up and left the tray beyond the door.

On the third day after his suspension, the food is delivered, but when they come again at lunch, the untouched tray is still sitting out in the hall. They find the note addressed to Snow after they’ve had to break down the door, and all it says is “Keep it safe for me.”

When she receives the note, she shakes her head, a broken chuckle coming from her as she folds it and holds it to her chest. She’s not even surprised when a captain reports that the _Jewel of the Realm_ , his brother’s favorite ship, has been commandeered overnight.

By the time it’s reported to the king and queen that a ship has gone missing, Killian has managed to make it a considerable distance away from the shore. The _Jewel_ is the fastest ship they have, and even the second fastest won’t be able to catch him with the lead he has. With a ragtag group of men he managed to hire in the shortest time possible, Killian has officially claimed himself captain, and their first order of business is to get as far from Misthaven as they possibly can.

“If you see a ship, men, you alert your captain and we will take what we desire. But no harm shall come to any crew we encounter, do you understand?”

A chorus of men all respond at once, “Yes, Captain!”

“Good. You’ll all make a fine crew aboard this ship, and you’ll have more riches than you know what to do with in no time at all. Let’s get this vessel in order and be our _own_ masters!”

With the men cheering on deck, Killian takes the helm, his fists closing around the handles on the wheel as he steers them towards his own destiny.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back in Storybrooke, Emma is finding out how to live as her memories start returning. A repeated wish is finally answered with an unexpected find on her doorstep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mentions of EmmaxOther Characters and Red Swan in this chapter. Nothing graphically spelled out, mostly just skimmed over.

Over the years, Emma does her best to move on with her life. The first year is the hardest, what with trying to relearn her own life and all. But the development of a stronger friendship with Regina goes a long way in making the transition easier.

She spends her twenty-sixth birthday with Graham and Regina at a local dive-bar. Graham Humbert is not only a stand-up boss and sheriff, but also a fantastic man to call a friend. And Regina, while not her _bestie_ when she came home from the hospital, soon took that position in her life.

“Make a wish,” Graham says, trying to pretend his hand isn’t curling over Regina’s knee under the table, but Emma knows better. The fact that her two best friends are banging on the sly is weird but manageable. The amount of times she’s caught them sneaking around at this point is ridiculous, and the fact that they keep hiding the fact that they’re sleeping together is even _more_ absurd.

Oh right, _wish_ , Emma remembers, staring at the cupcake they’ve placed in front of her. There’s a single candle in it, a yellow star that makes her smile even though there’s a pit of loneliness eating up her stomach.

_I wish I didn’t have to be alone_ , she thinks, holding onto the words tightly for a minute before blowing out the candle.

“What’d you wish for?” he asks.

“I wished that you two would just go home already and bang it out,” she says flippantly, eyeing the lack of space between their bodies on the bench across from her.

“Emma!” Regina exclaims, scandalized as ever, but Graham just throws his head back and laughs.

“ _That_ is a wish I can grant, if this one will allow it,” he replies, a twinkle in his eye as he looks over at Regina. He must do something under the table because there’s a blush lighting across her cheekbones and she clears her throat before turning back towards Emma.

“On that note, I believe it’s time for us to leave. Do you want Graham to drop you off on our way to his place?”

She nods, too weary to contest the need for a ride. She keeps that hollow to herself, picking up her cupcake and cradling it close on the way home. She stashes the candle in her cutlery drawer and forgets about it until the following year.

If pressed, Emma can barely even remember that she was found wandering around in the woods the day after her twenty-fifth. After a year and a half of appointments with Dr. Hopper, she’s able to finish her time in therapy with at least _most_ of her memories intact.

_Most of_ , Emma thinks, is good enough. She still struggles to remember some of the milestones, not really remembering things like aging out of the system or learning how to drive.

But she remembers Graham handing her a badge and a uniform a couple years ago, and she remembers hauling a box of her clothes into the bedroom, wiping her brow as she looked around at the sparse, pre-furnished apartment she had just leased as her own.

There's something Emma doesn't remember, though, and it is companionship. In all the memories she's regained, she never remembers having someone. She knows she's not a virgin, knows that she knows what sex is, and that's less from any tangible memory she has and more of an intuition thing.

Emma has dreams of passion. She's woken with sweat on her brow from something just out of her grasp. She sits up in bed after those nights, with her eyes closed, trying her best to hold onto just one thread of the dream before it vanishes again. There's no actual evidence that this is a memory of hers, but there's nothing to say that it isn't. Besides, when she wakes from these dreams, it's almost as if she can still feel her partner between her thighs, and she aches with want to feel it again.

On her twenty-seventh birthday, Graham and Regina once again duck out early on their own conquests to find relief from their self-made sexual tension. Emma is left with the few co-workers she's happy to spend her time with, a couple spare friends, and swaps a time and day for a possible date with August, who admits that he's had a thing for her since Emma came into the woodshop he works in with his grandfather.

_Maybe I need to be dating more_ , Emma thinks on her quiet walk back to the apartments. For the past two years, she’s only had herself for company in the bedroom, and that’s been okay. It’s _okay_. But it’s not great.

At the end of the evening, when she’s settled in, she lights the red star candle that’s stuck into the top of the cupcake and considers it, staring at the flame and thinking as loud as she can before closing her eyes and settling on her wish.

_I wish I didn’t have to be alone_ , she thinks again. When she opens her eyes, the candle’s flame catches her focus but the rest of the apartment is so empty and lonely. She blows out the candle, plucks it out of the frosting, and throws it into the drawer with the one from last year.

Even when Regina and Graham decide two months later that they’ve explored what they wanted to in their sexual relationship and decide to move on to other options, everything is statically normal. And that’s a good thing, right?

Halfway through the winter, Emma can’t help but prop up her head on her elbow at her desk, working her shift in the office while the others are out patrolling. Her dates with August were okay. He’s a good guy, and he’s pretty hot, but there’s no remarkable spark which is the one thing Regina always mentioned about why she and Graham started sleeping together in the first place. She made out with August a little bit, fooled around once, but on Emma’s end, there was nothing more compelling to keep her interest.

She and Regina start a routine of going out every couple of weeks, going between the two very small bars that Storybrooke houses so they can drink and make questionable life choices. It’s on these nights that they both explore their options, employing a buddy system so they always know the other one is safe, but otherwise going home with other people as often as they can.

Emma is surprised, one night, to be hit on by a woman named Ruby, the granddaughter of the owner of the diner she loves so much. When Ruby eases her hand along Emma’s thigh and explains that she doesn’t date, she’s just looking for a little fun, Emma closes out her tab. Ruby is a lot of fun, it turns out. So much so that Emma stays for breakfast and lunch the next day, leaving the encounter sated and smiling.

On Emma’s way out, Ruby grabs Emma’s phone and plugs her number in. “In case you want a repeat performance sometime,” she tells Emma, pulling her close for one more kiss with just the right amount of tongue before sending her on her way.

The one night stands help. They ease up some of the loneliness Emma feels, but inevitably, she either goes home or closes the door behind the latest conquest, and she’s left by herself again. The days and weeks and months drag on and she has a healthy number of encounters with people, making sure to take Ruby up on that repeat more than once when they both have the time and the desire.

Just before her twenty-eighth birthday, work suddenly picks up, so much so that where she normally would’ve gone out with Regina and Graham and any other combination of her friends, she instead swings past Granny’s on her way home and accepts the cupcake that Ruby tells her is on the house.

There’s a blue star candle stuck in the top of it, and she grins at the trinket that matches the ones she has at home. Flicking the lighter from her apron once, Ruby gives it a flame and tells her to make a wish.

Much like the last two years, there’s only one thing Emma can think of to ask for. _I wish I didn’t have to be alone_ , she repeats in her mind before blowing out the candle, and she knows that it’s a different context than what Ruby offers next.

“You wanna stick around for a couple beers? Come back to my place for some good, old-fashioned birthday sex?” Her tongue peeks out and runs along her namesake red lips, which at least makes Emma smile.

“I’d be no good to you if we did that,” she says, and when Ruby opens her mouth to protest, Emma holds up her hand. “I know you would _happily_ give me a birthday gift to remember, but you know it would drive me nuts to not reciprocate.”

Something about her own words nudges the back of her memories, but there’s no icy chill down her back, there’s no tingling to represent an incoming memory. It’s something buried far too deep for her to pull out, but she looks down at the ring on her middle finger and stares at it for a moment. It calms her anxious thoughts, at the very least, and leaves her slightly more peaceful than she’s felt in days.

She forgets where she is for a moment until Ruby sighs, shaking her head and leaning across the counter to give Emma a kiss on the cheek. “Happy birthday, sweets. Go home and get some rest.”

“Thanks, Ruby.” She gives her friend a more genuine smile before she takes the proffered treat box and heads back out into the unreasonably cold weather they’re getting for late October.

She’s dragging herself up the walk when she spots a dark blur on the landing of the apartment building. She thinks it’s a forgotten scarf or something, but just when she’s about to pass by, it shivers hard and she almost trips over her own feet. She crouches down to check the animal and discovers that it’s a cat. He’s shivering steadily now, obviously not impervious to the cold temperatures or the wind that’s beginning to gust harder.

Emma doesn’t even know if animals are allowed in the building, but she’s starting to wonder if this thing will live if she doesn’t get it warm. How long has it been since he’s eaten? What if he’s injured? _Oh_ , what if he’s diseased? Maybe she should go back to Ruby and see if she can help it or take it to the vet’s office; she is one of the vets there, after all.

Another shiver seems to work its way through the cat. She has to do _something_. Setting down the cupcake box, she’s careful when she picks him up, in case he _is_ injured, and cradles him against her chest. She zips her coat up around it to warm it up faster – and potentially hide him – as she snatches up the cardboard again and makes her way inside the building.

Once they’re tucked back in the apartment, Emma haphazardly leaves her treat on the entryway table and tries to figure out what to do next. She can’t do anything while she’s still holding the cat, so she grabs the nearest kitchen towel and wraps it around him, placing him on the couch and waiting for a second to see if he’ll try to move. When he doesn’t, she immediately jumps into action, placing a small bowl of water on a tray.

She’s incredibly grateful she happened to buy a can of tuna at the store the week prior, and she thanks her weird craving for tuna salad as she peels open the can and puts some in a second bowl before stashing the rest in the fridge for later. She sets the whole thing on the coffee table and sprints off to her bedroom, digging one of her lesser used plush blankets from her closet and taking that back in with her.

The tea towel gets discarded in favor of the warmer blanket, but Emma takes a second to look for any traces of blood on it before leaving in next to the couch. His dark fur makes it hard to see any details, but it seems as if he’s just a little wet from the weather and without injury. While the cat huffs at being prodded at, he doesn’t fuss back, and only trills out a question as he’s swaddled into the blanket before going quiet again.

On closer inspection, she discovers that the poor thing is missing a paw. The wound looks healed over, but Emma is just thankful she found him before he could freeze to death outside.

_I’ll have to bathe him_ , she thinks, laying back and getting them both comfortable. But first he has to make it through the night. As she snuggles the cat closer, he opens his eyes at her, and she’s surprised by the intensity of blue that looks back at her. He blinks twice, heaving a sigh of comfort or safety – she can’t be sure which – before he falls asleep again. To say she knows the feeling would be a bit of an understatement.

She’s knows what it’s like to be alone and scared. If anything, that thought makes her hold the cat a little closer, now willing him to live through the night, and hoping he doesn’t wake up as scared as she would be. Somewhere in her hopeful mantra, she nods off, slumping back into the cushions further and not noticing the cat beginning to purr.

Emma’s woken up a short bit later by the sound of the saucer she put the tuna on hitting the floor. She struggles to open up her eyes, but has no choice when there’s suddenly a weight on her stomach, followed by a lengthy meow.

She mumbles a response to the cat, which is pretty ridiculous, but the cat only meows again and louder. Finally, Emma peels open her eyes to see that bright, bright blue staring back at her. “So, you’re awake and you’re hungry,” she says to him. “Did you drink some water?” They look together at the empty bowl still on the table, and she nods. “Okay, fine. Let me get you a little more of both and then you’ll have to wait until morning for more.”

She sets the cat back on the coffee table, removing the blanket from where he’d wiggled out of his cocoon earlier and gathers the two dishes before heading off to the kitchen to refill them. She barely makes it two steps before she hears the cat following her, and she turns to watch him as she walks, further impressed by the way he doesn’t let the missing paw hinder his movements.

After the dishes are filled again, she carries them back to the table. As the cat digs in, she lightly strokes along his spine, noting that he’s really not overly dirty or malnourished. He tries to purr as he eats, instead making a weird, rattling happy sound as he chews.

It looks like she might have a new pet. She’s not sure if she’s allowed to have pets here, but there’s nothing that will convince her to give up on the poor little guy that’s loudly scarfing down the rest of the tuna she gave him.

“I’m not really good at coming up with names,” she admits out loud. “How about I call you Cat until we think up a better name?” He’s doing his best to drain the water dish, paying her no mind. Instead, he’s trying to dip his paw into as if to lift the water to his mouth, and Emma just barely manages to catch it as he pushes it off the table in his haste to get the last drops. “It’s either that or Clumsy, like the forgotten dwarf or something.”

He looks up at her at that, in a look that so eerily resembles a glare before meowing once and jumping off the table in order to stalk around her apartment to inspect it. Emma realizes she doesn’t have a litter box for the little guy. With a cringe, she grabs a plastic bin from her bathroom closet and empties the contents onto the counter. She tears up newspapers to line the bottom of it and nods at her handiwork when she’s done.

“If you have to go, you go in there. It’ll have to do until I can go out tomorrow and get you a real cat box. Okay?” The cat looks at her and she could swear that it nods in response to her directions. “I’m going to get ready for bed. I’ll uh, leave you to it,” she says with a gesture towards the makeshift box. He looks at it, then back at her, and she just somehow knows that he gets it. He understands what she’s indicating. She’s never had a cat, so maybe that’s normal, or maybe he’s just already litter trained and someone did the dirty work for her.

After she changes and gets ready for bed, she wanders back to find the cat sitting outside the bathroom.

“You’re not sleeping in my bed. Not until you’ve had a bath and I’ve gotten you to the vet, okay? I’ll see if they can fit me in tomorrow.”

At the very least, she figures she can make him comfortable, so she gathers the blanket that she initially wrapped him in and puts that around a pillow she doesn’t normally use. He inspects her work when she’s done, sniffing around it once before tentatively crawling on top and curling up. Emma crouches down to scratch behind his ears and smiles at the soft purring that starts rumbling through his body. She wasn’t even sure he’d live through the night, but it looks like she just adopted a new cat.

-x-

Ruby clears him the next day. She’s thankful that Storybrooke is as small as it is, and that the one and only vet office has a spot in the afternoon to fit them in.

“I don’t know how he got this injury, but it looks like it was well treated. He’s a lucky guy, Emma.” Ruby scratches under the cat’s chin, much to the happiness of the feline. “Do you have a name for him yet?”

“Not yet. I’ve just taken to calling him Cat for the time being.”

She chuckles, nodding her head. “It takes time to pick one that fits. We’ll run a couple more tests on him, to be sure, but he looks perfectly healthy to me. Not often you find that in a stray. Just give us a couple minutes and we’ll be back.”

Emma relaxes in the hard plastic chair the best she can while she waits. There’s an organizer hanging on the wall with magazines of various pet-natures. She picks up one with a Scottish Fold on the front, its eyes large and pleading, and starts flipping through the contents. She catches random tidbits as she scans each page: there are reviews for food brands, adverts for litter and automatic cleaning boxes, she looks at the benefits of growing her own catnip, but remembers the flowers from the hospital that were dead within a week. Beyond the door that leads to the work area behind the scenes, Emma hears a series of yowling noises and Ruby’s voice trying to soothe him.

By the time Cat is deposited back on the table a couple minutes, he looks scandalized and practically clings to her as soon as he can.

Ruby reassures her this is a normal reaction. “But he’s all good. Very healthy. Caught up on his boosters for now. He’s uh, quite the little gentleman, that one.” The sarcasm in Ruby’s tone is clear, and Emma looks down at him curiously. “Here’s a list of all the best products I tend to recommend. Some of them are better because they’re made around here, like the natural scratching posts from Geppetto’s WoodShop, or the very obviously locally canned tuna. Others will be better for your living space since you’ll be in close quarters with his litter box.”

“Oh! Thank you so much. I was going to ask. The magazine I looked at said the same exact thing for five different brands.”

“You’re welcome. And of course, if you ever need anything, you have my number,” Ruby tells her, and her tone could go either way for salacious or innocent, but she doesn’t linger on it. Instead, she turns to Cat to bid him farewell, but he’s having none of it.

Cat practically glares at her in response, and backs away from the good veterinarian’s touch before she gives up and rolls her eyes.

Emma thinks about loading him back into the improvised carrier she grabbed (little more than a laundry basket with a blanket over top) but he’s so attached to her that she doesn’t bother. She throws her purse and the blanket in the basket, propping it on her hip as they stop to pay the bill before heading out to her car.

The amount makes her groan, and she hopes she made the aggravated sound internally, because a few hundred bucks for something that would fit in her purse is certainly nothing to sneeze at. With one more mental grimace, she hands over her bank card and prays they don’t need to make another of these visits any time soon.

Emma’s amazed at the fact that Cat sits in the passenger seat and doesn’t budge the whole way back to her apartment. She wonders if he’s one of those cats she could fix a leash to and take him for walks, but she wouldn’t want to stress him out if the distance would be too much on three legs.

“It’s good to know you aren’t a runner,” Emma comments to him as she puts the car in park. Cat helpfully jumps into the basket, waiting for her to pick it up and carry them inside.

She lifts him out and leaves him in the living room for the time being, instead reassuring him that she’ll be right back as she heads out again and across the small town to the only pet store. She wheels a buggy through the aisles, loading up on absolutely everything she can find. In goes the fancy litter box with a dome lid, along with a stupidly heavy box of litter that tells her, in bright lettering, that she won’t even know the cat box exists with its odor-eating capabilities!

_Yeah, right_ , she muses after she hefts it into the cart, rolling onward to the next section. It’s on Ruby’s list, though, so she’ll try to hold back her skepticism.

There’s a line of various bowls for her to peruse, and she takes her time selecting a set of black ceramic ones with little fish on the sides. She goes for the dry food that’s on the list, and chooses some flavors of the canned food at random. She has no idea what he’ll like, but trial and error is her only friend in this adventure.

Treats and toys and a brand-new carrier are loaded in as well, and Emma just stops herself from buying a costume off the rack, this close to Halloween. She sighs, hanging one back up as she walks to the check out. The clerk eyes her with humor, remarking that she must have the luckiest cat ever as she rings up each item.

“Well, I just found him yesterday, and he might’ve frozen to death if I hadn’t. I just want to make sure he’s comfortable and happy. Everyone deserves a home,” she says, the words panging inside her chest as they leave her own mouth. She’s not sure why the statement suddenly makes her sad. She has a home, and now she has a cat, and he’ll be waiting for her when she returns. Surely, that makes the whole missing-memories thing just a little better, right?

“Oh! _Shampoo_ ,” Emma mutters, remembering that she wants to give Cat a bath so she knows he’s not tracking dirt into her bed. “Hold on, I’ll be right back.” The cashier barely has a chance to speak before Emma is darting over to grab whatever brand of soap has a cat on the bottle and tossing that and some flea treatments onto the belt with the rest of her purchases.

All said and done, she spends a lot of money at the pet store. Just like with the vet’s office, she prays she doesn’t have to do this again anytime soon. She figures it’s a little like that time she restocked her food supplies at the apartment. The first one was painful because she had next to nothing, but every trip after has been reasonable because she has all the basics now. The same thing goes for Cat’s supplies, which she loads into the passenger seat for easy access. It’s not as if she can’t afford all of this. Thanks to her job, and the savings account she didn’t remember for the first five months she was in therapy, she’s definitely not hurting for cash at the moment.

She shakes that thought from her head as she parks the car in her designated spot. She walks around to the other side, looping all the bags from her arm and grunting as she lifts the litter from the floor. All she has to do is make the trip up to her apartment without dropping any of it, which seems a lot easier in theory rather than practice.

Opening the door, she finds Cat still sitting patiently where she left him. “Did you move at all while I was gone?” she inquires, hefting the bags and balancing the litter box at the same time. Of course, he doesn’t respond, just stares inquisitively at her as she kicks the door closed and dumps everything on the couch. Cat follows her from room to room as she disperses the new items, inspecting the new litter box and wandering into it as she takes the plastic bin that was there out to the garbage chute at the end of the hall.

Every new item she pulls from the bags gets subjected to similar scrutiny. He almost nods approvingly at the food and water bowls, even more so when she fills the one with fresh, cool water and he goes to lap that up while she tries to decide which food to give him. She settles on the dry food, for now. Placing a scoop in the bowl and setting it down for him to investigate while she finds a spot in her pantry for all the new supplies. He doesn’t look too impressed by it, but eats a healthy portion of it before following her back into the living room when she starts digging through the remaining bag with all the toys.

The toys – _oh_ , the toys… Cat, for only having three paws, is _incredibly_ nimble. The first jingly mouse to land on the ground is almost immediately pounced on. He can’t seem to make up his mind whether to go for that or the crinkle balls she flings out into the room. She makes a mental note to hide the catnip toys until later, seeing as he’s already having _way too much_ fun without any help at the moment, and she chuckles to herself as she goes to store the bags and the extra toys. Even from the kitchen, she can hear the rustling thumps and chattering noises he makes.

Part of Emma wonders if this is normal, to be carrying on with her new houseguest as if she had actual company stop by. She’s never had a pet before, but at least if she’s mumbling to him, she’s mumbling to _someone_ , rather than wandering from room to room talking to herself. So, she keeps a running dialogue, answering his questioning meows with what she deems the appropriate responses.

Bathing Cat is easier than she anticipated. Maybe it’s the thousands of bad accounts she’s read online, but she figured he would balk at the water, and do everything in his power to get away from it. Instead, when she deposits him in the warm water she runs in the bathtub, Cat purrs and rubs his face against her hands as she cleans him. He waits until she’s pulled a towel from the closet and allows himself to be coddled into it. He patiently moves from one stance to another as she brushes him after he’s dry, until his coat is soft and shiny, and she has enough hair built up from what’s shed off him to build a whole other cat.

He stays out of her way for the rest of the day as Emma tries to get some housework accomplished on her day off. It’s only when she’s buried under a pile of paperwork that she’s brought home from the station that he jumps onto the desk and bumps her hand with his head. Looking at the clock, she realizes it’s way past dinner time for both of them, and she smiles as she thanks him for reminding her.

Cat becomes her faithful companion, making her feel a little less alone. When she’s sitting down to watch television, he settles on the arm of the couch to nap. When she’s working at her desk, Cat _tries_ to play quietly, but more often than not, he ends up scaling the curtains on the windows behind her, and chattering at her as if he needs to be rescued. She’s glad she doesn’t have expensive sheers on the windows or anything.

One night, she decides to tell Cat about her incident in the woods, and he sits with rapt attention as he listens. She tells him about the ring on her finger that she doesn’t know where it came from. And she tells him something she’s never spent a lot of time dwelling on, because it doesn’t make any sense to her.

“I don’t feel like I belong here,” she admits quietly. “I have my friends and my job, and they’re great. But I always feel like there’s something in the memories I’m missing that would tell me I’m not supposed to be here. Who knows, maybe someone is out there looking for me and they can’t find me because this place is still stuck in the golden ages of technology. I’m lucky to even have a smartphone.”

From his position on the other cushion, Cat reaches out with his stunted leg and appears as if he’s comforting her. But all he really probably wants is food, so she gets up to fill his empty bowl. “You’re a good listener, even if you’re a never-ending pit of hunger.”

As the sun breaks through the clouds one day, she observes his dark fur glinting in the natural lighting, catching hints of red in the dark brown of his fur.

“Maybe I could call you Ginger,” she remarks, sprawled out on her couch as he lounges in the sun. To her surprise, the cat turns his head towards her and if there’s a cat version of lifting an eyebrow, that’s precisely what he does. “Okay, not Ginger.”

She forgets that, pre-birthday, she and Regina had set up their next night out, until Regina is knocking on her door on their scheduled night.

“Why aren’t you ready?” Regina asks when Emma swings open the door, still in yoga pants and a sweatshirt.

“Well, I forgot? And also, I got a cat so I’ve been a little preoccupied.” As if talking about him summons him, Cat strolls through from his water bowl on his way back to the living room, but he stops when he sees the newcomer. They’re both surprised when, upon seeing Regina, he trots up to her and starts meowing, trilling out a question or two while he’s at it. “Aw, it seems like he likes you!”

“Yes, well,” Regina says, still eyeballing the cat like she’s not sure of him. “Do you want to still go out or not?”

"Okay," Emma says. "Let's do it. Go ahead and make yourself comfortable and I’ll try to make myself look fuckable.”

Regina snorts when she says it, but Cat makes a small choking sound at the same time. He sneezes right after, so Emma gives him a face to tell him how adorable he is before she heads off to find what she can in her closet to make it a night. She has her friends, and now she has her cat, but she’s pretty sure she needs a little physical release to make it all better.

“Be good tonight, buddy,” Emma tells Cat when she walks out of her bedroom. His whole demeanor deflates when he looks at her, and suddenly she feels awful. This poor thing has just established a routine with her after nearly dying. She can’t leave him alone for the whole night. She picks him up to hug him close. “Okay, I’ll tell you what. If I find someone, I’ll bring them back here so you don’t have to be alone tonight, deal?”

He squirms out of her arms, giving her one decisive noise before sulking off to the bedroom she just vacated. Emma sighs, letting it go and instead getting her winter gear on for the short walk they’re about to make.

She and Regina situate themselves at the bar, and Regina orders for them. It’s apparently a fruity night, and Emma grimaces when she takes a sip.

"Is there enough sugar in this, you think?"

"It's a sour apple martini," Regina explains, as if that answers her question. They definitely got the sour part right.

They have their first drink, and then they have another. Regina takes to flirting relentlessly with the bartender, a man who calls himself Robin, with an elaborate tattoo of a lion on his forearm. Robin seems just as keen on Regina as she seems on him, and Emma smirks to herself as she twirls the little plastic sword that had an actual apple slice attached to it through the tart red liquid.

Her insides feel warm, and her shoulders relax. Maybe she's been taking on too much work. Maybe she really has been too hard on herself lately. This is the first time she's gone out with Regina in _weeks_ , and longer than they usually go between bar crawls.

Regina seems to remember that she's not there alone right as Robin goes off to tend to another patron.

"Sorry, I don't know what's gotten into me,” Regina says, as if Emma hasn’t watched her stake out and take down a conquest or two since they started these outings.

"Two apple martinis and hearts in your eyes," Emma responds pointedly. She grins while Regina scoffs and tries to play it off, but it's too late. Emma can already see her blushing and the stammering is not doing her any favors, either.

Regina has a crush on the bartender.

It’s cute, really, but it leaves Emma feeling a little behind her game. They came here so she could get out, see if there were any connections to be made. Or at least someone to make out with and touch inappropriately. She glances around the bar, seeing if there’s an easy mark for her to take home, and focuses in on the man sitting at the end of the bar by himself. She stares at him until he looks up, which is when she smiles and glances back down at her drink; it’s almost sad that she knows this is a surefire way to get him to come to her.

Which he does. She glances back in his direction to see him abandoning his other stool to walk over to the one next to her, and he offers to buy her a round of her choice.

“Two tequila shots,” Emma tells Robin when he stops in front of her. If she’s going to make a night of it, she’s at least going to enjoy herself. She turns back to the man, who introduces himself as Keith, and straightens her shoulders to push out her breasts more.

He probably reminds her of someone she's met, but she can't place the name or the face. Instead, she bites on her straw and smiles seductively, batting her eyelashes just the right amount while What's-His-Name draws his fingers up her knee, to hell with subtlety, apparently. They do another round of shots before Emma feels like she might have the confidence to take him home with her.

Regina bumps her shoulder, and when Emma turns her head to look at the other woman, she's making small "shoo" motions with her hands, encouraging the slightly dumb path that Emma's decided to walk down for the night.

"So," Emma says, pulling out enough money to cover her half of the drinks, along with a nice tip for Robin. "You wanna walk me home?”

The man nods, a leering smile spreading across his face as he holds his hand out to help her from her bar stool. It's a short walk, but they're quickly delayed when he spins Emma towards him when they're barely out the door, their lips meeting in a clumsy kiss that doesn't seem to get any better no matter how long it goes on.

They follow the path back to her place, stopping every few feet to enact another sloppy kiss, to grope a little without being indecent, to stumble and laugh and move forward again. Emma unlocks the door with slightly unsure fingers, the keys almost slipping from her grasp as she snorts a laugh into the back of her hand.

The man with her makes some disparaging remark about getting them inside, but Emma is discovering that she's turned quite uncoordinated at this very moment. Finally, the door swings open, and they both tumble inside as he pulls her close to kiss her again. She forgets for a minute that she has a routine when she gets home - forgets that she already has someone to come home to.

She forgets she has a cat until Keith trips over him, extracting a hiss from her small companion as Cat glares the man down.

"Oh no! Cat, I'm sorry, buddy! Are you hurt?" Without thinking, Emma scoops Cat off the floor and cuddles him close, kissing the top of his head a couple times without realizing that the quality of kiss is much better than those she shared all the way back to the apartment with the man she’s supposed to be focusing on.

Said man is still sulking by the door from where he’s bracing himself for balance. "Always incredible how cats manage to find their way underfoot at every possible moment.”

"Not Cat, he's one of the good ones," Emma says, still oblivious to the staredown happening between the two males in the room.

"Tell you what, why don't you lock away this _precious_ darling in the bathroom so I might show you a night you'll never forget."

The fog of alcohol clears a bit from Emma's brain, allowing her to really focus on the man standing in her entryway. He's not even that attractive, she realizes, and she gives Cat one more solid squeeze before putting him back down on the floor.

Looks like it's time to take out the trash.

"So, let me get this straight. You want me to lock my loyal, loving cat in the bathroom so you can give me what I'm sure will be mediocre sex? Nah, no thanks. You can go now."

Emma yanks open the door, shoving Keith unceremoniously outside as he splutters indignantly. She closes the door without another word, locking the deadbolt as loudly as she can and walking away before Keith can try to say anything to her.

She lifts Cat up again, making sure to give him extra affection after the slight altercation.

"Any man who doesn't like you is clearly not good enough for me," she tells the feline, a sullen expression on her face. Cat nuzzles her chin, nipping so she doesn't get lost in her own sad thoughts. Not even the attempt to get laid this time worked out, but she’s happy enough with her cat in her arms.

It's a fight to get ready for bed that night, especially with the last dregs of alcohol robbing her of her coordination. She snorts as Cat turns his head as she peels out of her dress, standing there in next to nothing as she flings the dress towards the general direction of her closet. She pauses for a moment to text Regina, letting the other woman know that she’s home, alone, and safe. Regina texts back a thumbs down to the alone part, but lets her know that she’s going home with Robin and that she’ll text or call when she gets home.

Within a couple minutes, Emma has her face scrubbed of makeup, and she takes her time applying lotion to make up for the rough exfoliation. She hears Cat make a noise as she walks back in, unhooking her bra with one hand as she goes toward the drawer she keeps her pajamas in. If she were just a _little_ more inebriated, she would probably sleep as is, but it's still too cold to be sleeping nude, even with the heat pumping out of the vents.

Once she's dressed for sleep, she flips off all the lights and collapses onto her bed. Once the blankets are pulled up to her chin, she feels the soft weight of Cat jumping onto the bed, and she mumbles softly to him as he curls up beside her pillow. He lets out one soft chattering noise when her hand contacts his tail, and she smiles as she falls asleep.

Outside, the full moon grows nearer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, please go over to tumblr and give my artist Clockadile love for the artwork. Clearly, this cat is pretty important. You'll have to wait two weeks to find out why! Next week, we go back to the Enchanted Forest to see what Killian is up to!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mentions of KillianxNameless Wenches, loss of a hand. It's all fairly brief.

During the months that follow Killian absconding the _Jewel of the Realm_ , he starts to make a name for himself as a pirate. He recruits more men for his crew, finds easy targets of ships to loot, and finds ports across the lands that fear the sails of his ship coming into their sights.

He renames the ship the _Jolly Roger_ , and for the first time in his life lets himself sink into the luxury of material riches. He commissions a tailor to make him a greatcoat made of all leather, with fine details at the lapels and the cuffs. He steals rings from the men that cross him, adorning his fingers so he has something to entertain his eyes as he’s steering the ship. The most freeing day is the one where he throws a gold coin at one of his men to trim his hair, and he carelessly throws the tail he wore over the side rail. He keeps the ribbon, which was a gift from Emma, and tucks it into an interior pocket of his new coat.

There’s always a message from Misthaven finding its way to his ship via courier pigeon. He reads every word, but never responds, finding himself weary of his brother’s worthless pleas that he come home to them. He scoffs at David’s demands that he return the ship that belongs to his fleet.

At a port in Arendelle, Killian recognizes the insignia of a Misthaven ship and informs the men of a change of plans. They won’t be staying, after all. Instead, he takes two men onto the docks with him, finding a scrawny deckhand and beckoning him down the ship’s gangplank.

“I need you to deliver this for me, lad. Send it to your king, courtesy of Killian Jones.”

The two burly men behind him drop the trunk in front of the boy’s feet and turn back for the ship. Killian takes an extra moment to search the boy’s face for recognition, watching as the gears turn and the boy gasps, before hauling arse back up the plank to find his officers. Killian turns, then, his coat flaring out around him as he hastens back to his own vessel and orders the men to pull up the ramp and set sail at the same time.

By the time the captain of the _Misthaven Marvel_ makes it to the chest he left for them, the _Jolly Roger_ ’s sails are unfurling to catch the wind at the opening of the harbor and they’re hot on their way. Killian commands his first mate to steer as he stands at the stern and watches the land shrink away to nothing.

When that chest arrives in Misthaven, it’s taken straight to the king. David is the one to open it and find the note on top, with Killian’s neat script informing him that there should be enough in the chest to pay his debt. Not only is the chest filled with gold, but his uniform from the navy is neatly folded on top, boots and all.

“Thousands in coins and ten years of his service,” David reads, almost crumpling the note in agitation.

“I can go after him,” Liam says from the doorway of their antechamber, having heard that a delivery was made from Killian. “We have fast ships. I’ve been a captain longer than he has. I can catch him and bring him home.”

Snow looks between the two men, already fearing that this has gone on long enough. “No, Liam. That’s not necessary. He’s not harming anyone. Every report we have of the _Jolly Roger_ includes only looting. They steal to gain riches, but they never touch the crew.”

“He said he didn’t _care_ about money,” Liam says, derision in his voice as he scowls.

“Go get him,” David orders, and Snow’s eyebrows furrow as she turns her attention to her husband.

“David.”

“No, Snow, this has gone on long enough. He stole from us, he’s a menace to the kingdom, and he needs to be brought home. If we have to treat him like a child to do so, we will. Get your ship together and cast off, Commodore. Bring him home under charges of piracy and defection.”

“Aye, your majesty,” Liam intones before exiting the room.

“You may sleep on the chaise tonight,” Snow informs David as she gathers the skirts of her dress and glides toward the door. “This is foolish, David, and you know it. If either of those boys gets hurt, Emma will never forgive us.”

He’s not given the chance to respond, as Snow slams the door behind her. David tilts his head back in exasperation before looking again at the chest in the middle of the room, and wondering if the doors in his castle will ever stopped being slammed.

-x-

Killian, of course, finds out that his brother is after him before the man himself ever appears on the horizon. Still, it’s a surprise to himself and his crew that he _lets_ Liam catch up to them at a port off the usual maps, a known pirate haven that would take very unkindly to one of their own being hounded by the military of some far-off country they’ve never heard of. He figures if Liam is coming after him, he should find him on his own turf.

The bloody idiot docks at the port, standing at the bottom of where the gangplank would be lowered and demanding to speak to the captain of the ship. Killian comes up on deck only after his nervous first mate informs him that Commodore Jones has declared he will not be moved until he’s met by the captain.

“This ship already has a captain, we don’t need anyone else giving us orders,” Killian finally yells down from his position. He props a foot on top of a nearby crate, leaning his elbows on that knee as he speaks to shake the urge to stand at attention.

“Killian, come down and speak with me, or let me aboard so we can _talk_ like civilized men.”

“There’s the fault in your assumption, that we behave as civilized men on this vessel. There’s nothing to speak of.”

“Come _down_ here right this instant!”

Killian, who had started to turn away from the rail, spins again with anger burning in his eyes. “Did you not _hear_ me the last time we spoke? I am _not_ your lieutenant to command. I am only your brother because blood says it is so. Now, the men in this port have been informed that you’ll be leaving no sooner than one hour after I depart. They also will not lay harm upon you or your ship, but if you try anything foolish, Commodore Jones, you have no promises from me.” He stands to his full height, looking all the taller from atop the ship that once belonged to the man standing on the decks below. “Do I make myself clear?”

Liam’s face hardens further, and he narrows his eyes even as he gives one curt nod. He strides back to his ship with purpose, and Killian figures they have half of the hour he stated, maybe less depending on how high the older man’s ire is after this confrontation.

When Killian’s quartermaster appears at his shoulder, he doesn’t even turn to give the command. “Ready the lads for cast off, immediately,” he growls out, his own brows furrowed low over his eyes. Liam won’t make it easy on him, but Killian can at least get a decent lead on him. He figures that they’ve already forgotten, after just six months, that he was their key strategist, and so they’re far out of their league as far as he’s concerned.

Two other ships deploy at the same time, according to Killian’s request, both with similar colored paint on their hulls to bait the newly christened ship called _The Jewel II_. They weave as they head towards the opening of the cove that leads to the harbor, playing their own version of Find the Lady on their way out. All three ships go a different direction when they’re far enough out.

He gets the courier pigeon much sooner than he expected to inform him that the _The Jewel II_ set sail, just managing to dodge the half-hearted attacks that the other pirates would’ve launched in an attempt to slow him down. At least he’s not surprised when Liam’s ship appears on the horizon, gaining on them but not enough to overtake them.

“What if he fires at us, Captain?” This question comes from Smee, his flighty first mate. If the man weren’t so expert at finding people otherwise difficult to locate, Killian’s sure he would’ve made the man walk the plank for asking enough pointless questions to fill a bucket.

“He won’t fire at us,” Killian says, extending his spyglass to observe whatever is happening on the other ship. He lifts an eyebrow in surprise at what he sees, looking again just to be sure. “He might fire at us,” Killian informs the shorter man, retracting his spyglass and stashing it back in his coat as he tries to judge the wind. “Ready the mainsails, men. Quickly, now!”

The deck of his ship becomes a flurry of movement, and Killian oversees their progress for a moment before turning back to watch the approaching ship. If they can get the sails down and catch the right direction, they’ll pull away before Liam is ever officially in firing range. He hears the sharp command follow on the wind, and watches as three canons from _The Jewel II_ all fire at once.

They’re warning shots; they were never meant to come close. All the same, his own brother is attempting to take him down.

Behind him, the quartermaster yells out that the mainsails are ready, and he hears the satisfying sound of the wind filling them and the expected lurch of his ship. Just before the _Jolly Roger_ can gain its lead, Liam fires again, and this time they’re close enough that he watches two of them hit the water nearby. He looks back at his brother’s ship and can see Liam at the bow, his spyglass extended to observe Killian’s actions.

With one heaving sigh, Killian quirks his eyebrow up and gives his brother a mock salute. He can’t help the sadness that seeps into him at the gesture, however, and he stands at the stern long after they’ve outrun the other ship, long after his crew has retired for the evening and the helmsman has taken the wheel. When he does finally sleep, it’s with a renewed sense that he needs to find Emma and get her back, so this all may end.

Following the attempts from Liam, the communications from Misthaven finally stop. It just so happens that this cutting of ties coincides with his first actual break in trying to find the lost princess. It’s from another defector of Misthaven that Killian hears again the tale of Snow White’s stepmother, who once was the student of the Dark One himself.

Shortly before Snow’s official coronation, her stepmother went missing, and Snow was almost ruined by the rumors that she was involved in the disappearance. It took longer than it should’ve for her name to be cleared, and that was only after a thorough search of the surrounding area, much like the one they launched for Emma, proved that she was nowhere to be found.

This happened long before Killian was even born, but it’s still suspicious that this happened before and the kingdom didn’t even find the connection.

“They forget, eventually,” the defector slurred. He was four pints in at the run-down tavern, but Killian signaled for the man to receive another ale. He needed to keep this man’s tongue wagging, but inebriate him to the point of memory loss in the morning. It would do no good to have others go missing because he’s snooping around for clues.

It’s definitely not just the former regent that’s gone missing over the years, either. There are countless tales of disappearances that Killian unearths as he continues his searches. The vanishing of families, friends, royals, soldiers – they all have one common thread running through them and that’s a tie to the Dark One.

Some of the missing people are said to have made deals with the Dark One. Others, like a woman and her granddaughter that seemed to have ceased existing one summer five years ago, are said to have contained a powerful cloak that the Dark One wanted for his collection of magical items. He hears stories from orphaned children, and stricken parents. He talks to a guard in Arendelle who claims their queen’s aunt was sucked into a swirling light and never heard from again.

It’s all suspicious, incredibly vague, but it’s _something_.

A year after Emma goes missing, Killian finally catches a lead that’s far more tangible than all the others he’s found. He has to bribe his way through most of a kingdom east of Misthaven to follow the story. It turns out that the kingdom had been ravaged by ogres for nearly a decade before a nobleman made a deal with the Dark One to get rid of them. In return, the nobleman’s daughter, a young woman named Belle, was contracted to work as a maid in the Dark One’s castle in repayment for what they couldn’t give him in riches.

He’s told that the father of the maid was still later reported missing, but that Belle never heard of this development. The maid is only seen once every few months in a small village on the outskirts of the End of the World, a kingdom so far from home that Killian thought for the longest time that it was merely a mythical land used to scare them as children.

The worst part of embarking on this journey is having to pass Misthaven on their way. From their position on the seas, it would take just as long to sail west as it would to sail east and reach the same destination, but the supply ports available to them by going east are restricted and few. They head west, instead, following the setting sun.

Killian hopes they’re far enough to the south to avoid any run-ins with his former navy, but he spots the sails and flags of a Misthaven ship not long after he sends up that particular prayer. He figures they’ll engage, and even tells the men to be ready for an attack. To go around would cost them too much time, and he feels they’ve already wasted enough as it is.

When they pass however, the captain of the naval vessel stands at the bow and watches as he goes. They don’t engage, but when Killian extends his spyglass to see the man on deck, he’s glaring at the ship as it passes by.

_Curious_ , he thinks, but then again, it’s not. This is either Liam’s way of apologizing for shooting canons at him, or this is the kingdom’s way of saying they’re giving him his room. Either way, he stashes his spyglass and tells the men to keep course. They have a lot of water to cover before their next stop.

The villages at the End of the World are sparse. Thankfully, the secluded nature of the island kingdom is perfect for a man or woman who wishes to start their lives over, so Killian has the perfect story to find his way into the village closest to the Dark One’s reach. It’s said that this woman, Belle, goes to the village every few weeks for cleaning supplies and fresh foods, so Killian has to hope that she’s not _just_ visited them and he has hope of catching her without waiting too long.

With that in mind, the _Jolly Roger_ makes port for but a few hours to restock its own supplies, before Killian sends them on their way to avoid suspicion. He makes sure to disembark as if he were a passenger that paid his way, and he heads to the nearest tavern and inn to secure a room.

The bartender, a portly gentleman that looks as if he’s stared at the woodgrain on the walls far too long, is more than willing to oblige in retrieving him a pint of ale and listening to Killian’s woes. He calls himself Jones, plays his backstory as that of a man who just lost his wife. He throws an unborn babe in there to make it even more tragic, his face full of torment as he tells his tale.

“There was nothing left for me in Arendelle,” Killian tells him. “So it seemed only right that I head for the End of the World.”

“Aye, that’ll be a tale to bring you here, lad,” the older man says, nodding in sympathy as he polishes the already spotless bar top.

He’s rented a room at half the price, and the innkeeper tells him it’s the least he can do for a man that lost so much in his short life. At least he gets to keep more of his gold on this possibly fruitless adventure. As Killian sees it, that’s the only positive side to it all.

To act poor and destitute after so long of sailing on riches is a task of pain for him. Killian hates wearing the same clothes out of the inn room day in and day out, but he was only able to bring the absolute essentials in a knapsack not nearly large enough for his desires. Measuring this against his time in the castle, Killian wonders when this shift in materialism took place. He told Liam that he didn’t care about the difference in pay between lieutenant on shore and captain of a ship, yet here he is – the captain of a pirate ship, no less, and rolling in all the gold and gems he wishes. But this lifestyle is giving him the freedom to keep looking for Emma under his own terms, which is something he wasn’t getting in the castle. Had Emma not disappeared, he would likely be wed to her already, and he would still happily be fulfilling his strategist duties in the navy.

It’s after a week that Killian realizes he has to make his story believable about being a man starting over. He offers to do menial work for meager pay, claiming to need funds to save up for a home of his own, but it’s the gossip he gleans from the other patrons and villagers which is more valuable than the money. Killian has enough stashed in various places in his room and knapsack that he could buy the whole bloody inn if he wanted to, but it’s better to blend than waste away his days in the common room or wallowing in his bed.

He’s in the middle of mending an old wooden cart when he hears chattering from two ladies, talking about how Belle was coming down the path and speculating on what she would be purchasing this time around. Thankfully, it only takes him a month to run into the lass, but he’ll make it count. He’ll have another two weeks before the Jolly Roger returns for him.

The woman who rounds the path in the village a short time later is older than Killian anticipated. She’s not a child, but she looks to be more around Emma’s age. She seems downright jovial to be lugging bags and packs to be used by an evil man. He shakes his head, struggling to bury his knowledge of the situation as he calls out.

“May I help you carry anything, miss? Anything for a copper coin, I’ll help out.”

“That’s very kind of you,” she says, “but I’m actually here to pick up my cart. It needed repairs to the wheels, and it’ll make my journey back so much easier.”

“You’re in luck, lass. I’m nearly done with it. Would you mind keeping a lonesome widower company while he finishes his work?”

“You poor dear. Of course! You’re new here, aren’t you?”

“Been here about a month now, miss. My name is Jones. I’ve heard quite a bit about you, what with the gossip that flits about this place like sparrows.”

“Don’t believe a word of it. Rumplestiltskin does _not_ turn children into snails and smoosh them beneath his boots. That’s just something they came up with down here to make all their children behave. I gather you already know I’m Belle, then”

“I don’t believe anything I don’t see with my own eyes, Miss Belle.” He drops the conversation for the time being, instead asking her about the weather on the island, and information about the villages. He takes care sanding the worn wood, ensuring no splinters will be left behind. As Belle continues to talk, he rips the fabric from an old wheat sack and wraps the handles for a better grip.

They make it back around to conversation about her employer, and Killian plays up the curious gentleman again, asking her questions in fascination about the fortress they live in and what goes on inside the walls.

“What _is_ the strangest thing you’ve ever seen from that mysterious magic of his?” Killian doesn’t expect her to respond in any way that can help him; he assumes she’ll pick a spell that lifts items or brooms that sweep the floors on their own, but instead she surprises him.

“Well, he has a way of opening portals to different lands and transporting people through them. This I _have_ seen with my own eyes. When a deal doesn’t work out, or someone refuses to pay him, he’ll open this doorway, and off they go to a new land.” She makes the motion of a door shutting, and Killian tilts his head to one side.

“All due respect, miss, but I just find it unlikely. Why would he send them through a portal? Why not just do away with someone who wrongs him?” He draws his finger across his throat so she’ll get his meaning, but quickly goes back to work tightening the last loose spoke on the wheel.

“See, he really isn’t as cruel as most people assume he is,” Belle says. By the tone of her voice, and much to Killian’s revulsion, she’s in love with the beast. “He doesn’t enjoy killing people, or else his heart will fill with so much darkness that it could kill him.”

“Does he do this often?”

“Not as much as he used to. I swear, there was a solid year where every day someone new was going through that portal. He maybe only sent two or three people to that land over the last year. It’s hard for me to say because I don’t see all of them, and he doesn’t share all that information with me. It’s just what I’ve picked up over the years.”

“I hope he doesn’t work you too hard, Miss Belle,” Killian says, finally flipping over the cart and giving it a roll to test it out. “Seems to be good as new,” he announces when it moves without issue.

“You’re really too kind to do this, Jones.” She beams at him as she places all her bags in the basket of the cart and turns to him. “Thank you again. And extra for the handle grips.” With a gold coin – not a copper one, as he’d asked – pressed into his palm, she sets off on her way back through the village.

When she’s out of sight, Killian lets his facial expression drop back to one of irritation. So, the Dark One hasn’t killed Emma. He _knew_ she couldn’t be dead. This is cause for excitement, but there’s the second half of what Belle told him. His beloved is in a different realm than this one. He cannot reach her by ship alone.

He heads back to his room at the tavern with plenty to mull over. If Emma isn’t accessible to him here, how is he to figure which realm she’s in? He’s heard of the other lands before, of course. There’s more to explore in the world than just the seas he sails, he _knows_ this.

By the time his last two weeks are over, Killian has fixed more in the village and for passers-by than he originally intended, but the coin in his pocket is all earned. He tells the innkeeper that he’s off to find his place in the world, to make his own sanctuary somewhere. He does make sure to thank the man and pay him, and leaves a nice little treasure of cash hidden in the room for the lucky sod to find after he’s gone. It doesn’t matter what the man thinks of him after he’s left. Killian got everything he needed out of the village.

The day his feet land back on the deck of the _Jolly Roger_ is a good day. It feels right to be back on the seas, and he didn’t realize how much he’d missed the swaying of the ship under him until he’d been away from it for so long.

Once they’re far enough away from the End of the World and all its surrounding islands, he and the men celebrate his return with plenty a drink. He knows they’ll want to go to a real port soon and find themselves a lass or two, and they’ll need to replenish their stocks, so Killian sends the helmsman to bed after an appropriate amount of time so he can think at the wheel as they steer through the night.

When they make port again, Killian sends his men away to enjoy a night in the nearest village. He checks his counts, now tallying another half of a year to the amount of time since Emma was taken from him, and nearly sweeps everything off the desk in his cabin in agitation. This is taking _too long_. He needs her now more than ever, needs her love and support, needs the way she would place her hand on his shoulder when he was deep in thought just to let him know she was there for him.

The men are noisy when they return, some having had too much to drink and stumbling off to their bunks to sleep it off, and others - like the group that calls him up to the deck - have far too much money on their hands, it would seem. There stands a lass, her corset propping up an ample bosom, her lips a sinful red, her eyes appraising the captain that they paid her for. Her eyes and hair are brown – a stark difference from the green and blonde he was just imagining, but when she steps forward and winds herself around him, his body comes to life.

To the cheers on the deck, Killian takes her to his cabin and locks all the entrances. His breathing is heavy, and his clothes feel more confining than they have in ages, so he takes his time to strip out of his greatcoat as she stands by the ladder they just descended.

“What can I do for you tonight, Captain? Your men seem to think you need the touch of a lady to ease your troubles.”

“My men are fools, but they’re not entirely wrong. You may not kiss me, nor can your mouth touch my cock. Do I make myself clear?” He had turned around to undo the buttons of his shirt, to release the suspenders holding up the leather trousers that have always felt like some sort of home, and when he turns toward her again she’s just releasing the last loop on the corset and letting her dress fall to the floor. Nothing but skin greets his eyes.

“Yes, Captain,” she says, a twinkle in her eyes as she moves forward to do as he’s commanded.

-x-

He gets a message just a few days past his birthday from Snow wishing him another joyous year, and telling him they miss him, but the message ends there.

After discovering that Emma is no longer in this realm, Killian becomes more driven than ever to find where she might be. He thinks it might be easier to return to the castle and report what he’s found out, have the resources of the king and queen’s library at his disposal, but a stubborn streak of pride keeps him away on his own. Still, he stashes the message amongst his treasured possessions that he locks away before returning to his hardened persona.

While his men enjoy the alcohol and ladies at each port, Killian takes to researching ways to get to other realms. He finds tale upon tale of magic beans in the books he reads, telling great stories of journeying to Oz and Wonderland, but none of the books mention _how_ to get his hands on these beans. At least the issue of figuring out which realm she’s in is no longer a problem. Every instance of a magic bean being used says that one need only think of where they’re to go, or who they’re trying to reach, and the beans will do the rest of the work for him.

If he’s having so many troubles finding out information about one bean, however, the issue is compounded by the fact that he’ll also need a way home. Killian needs to locate _two_ magic beans to save Emma.

Despite the fact that he’d rather not, he calls Smee to his quarters shortly before they begin their next quest out to sea.

“Smee, you claim you can find people who don’t want to be found, but I wonder if you can do the same for objects that are troublesome to acquire.” Smee removes his hat, wringing it in his hands as he listens to what his captain is saying.

“Aye, sir. It only takes the right questions to find just about anything you want.”

“We leave in two hours. See if there’s anything in this little, useless corner of the world that’ll tell you where to find magic beans,” Killian says, trying to sound bored as he requests it. The men know that he searches for a long-lost love, and they know that he will stop at nothing to get her back, but the men on deck have changed rotation enough that none of them know how bright the fire inside him burns.

Smee, while he seems loyal, also seems as if he’d turn tail at the scent of a higher bidder. He’d rather the man know as little as possible until he’s sure Smee can be trusted. “This is your mission alone, Smee. Don’t bugger this up and I won’t slit your chest from neck to navel.” Smee pales, and visibly swallows down his fears at the threat, but he nods afterwards, slipping his hat back on his head while a look of determination takes over his features.

“Aye, Captain. You can count on me.”

Through two ports – then three, and four, and almost five – Smee keeps up his quiet search for information to report back to Killian, and it’s on the last day in port at the fifth that Smee finally has something useful for him. The short man is all but bouncing on the balls of his feet as he waits for the wench to leave the captain’s quarters, her discretion already smoothing the features of her face while the coin in her purse weighs more than when she arrived.

When Killian signals Smee in, he manages to keep himself contained until the door is closed and Killian has given a nod for him to speak.

“I’ve found the location of a magic beanstalk, Captain. It’s just a day away by ship, or three days by land.”

“You’re still withholding information about this from me, Smee. I can practically smell it on you.”

“Well, sir, it seems to be guarded by magic. We’ll need to find a way to get past that barrier for there to even be a chance at those beans.”

Killian throws himself into the chair at his desk and considers the options. There’s a beanstalk, which is promising. They’re dangerous enough, in the fact that there’s normally a giant or two at the top of them, but that it’s also magically sealed from him is another obstacle he didn’t anticipate. He asks the location and starts plotting out whether land or sea will be the better route. Still, Smee has completed his original task, so Killian procures a pouch of gold coins as payment.

“If you can find the person that can get me past that spell around the beanstalk, you pay them as much as they ask and I’ll double your salary for such a find. You’re dismissed.” He turns his attentions to the maps, pretending for all the world that the other man no longer exists.

“Aye, sir,” Smee responds, easing open the small purse to eye his payment. His eyes widen and he ties it again before stashing it deep in his pockets. “ _Thank you_ , sir.” He’s gone without another word, and Killian leans his elbows on the desk as he rubs his hands over his face. It’s always one step forward, and it’s always the tiniest step as compared to the six leaps back they make.

He’s almost relieved when it only takes Smee two days to return with a leather cuff that’s supposed to allow him the opportunity to climb the beanstalk. With their original date to sail pushed back, the men have gotten antsy and it’s taken much of Killian’s strength to not toss some of them overboard. He can almost be certain that while he’s off on his mission to find the beans that several of them will either abandon the lifestyle or find a different flag to sail under. He’s fine with either, as long as his quartermaster and first mate are still on board when he returns. If he’s successful, he’ll need the _Jolly Roger_ under the care of trusted men while he’s off finding Emma.

-x-

Standing at the base of a beanstalk is not for the faint of heart. Killian is not faint of anything, however standing beneath something that towers over a thousand feet above his head does give him pause. With a bracing, deep breath, he steps forward, finding good hand and foot holds to start him out.

By the time he reaches the top, Killian is bored with his mission. He’s also exhausted from having to climb a bloody beanstalk, and he’s hungry from what now feels like days without a meal. But there’s no time to complain, or try to remedy any of his current ailments. He needs to find where the giants would keep their magic beans and get back down.

_Ugh_ , getting back down was going to take _just_ as long. Perhaps if he had someone to talk to on the way it wouldn’t be nearly as bad, but no, the only one he’d even want by his side is Emma, and if she were there to talk to him then he wouldn’t be on this bloody adventure in the first place. Although, he suspects she would enjoy the leather.

The giants, he’s not surprised to see, are not friendly. In fact, they’re downright murderous once they realize that he has not one, but two of their precious beans in his hand and he’s making a run for it. They give chase, and he thinks it would be easier for them to catch him, what with their size and gait, but there’s one thing on his side: the cracks in the foundation. Rather than having to run all the way for the entrance, Killian is able to duck down a smaller space in the wall, cutting down on his exit time. While the giants are still trying to figure out where he went, Killian is already making his way down the vines that eased his passage up.

If possible, it takes Killian longer to get down than it took him to get up the stalk in the first place. There’s the delicate matter of trying not to fall to his death, but there’s the added bonus danger factor in that the giants at the top take to shaking the whole damn thing in an attempt to kill him.

Landing back on the ground, feeling it solid beneath his feet, is the best he’s felt about land since the day he stole the _Jolly Roger_. He doesn’t stop for long, though; he keeps running until he can hide himself away in case any of the giants do decide to pursue him down to land. He’s heard that the giants stay away from the world down here because of their quarrels with humans. Killian himself has probably not helped the cause, but there are certain battles one must choose sometimes.

Liam always told him that a man unwilling to fight for what he wants deserves what he gets. Why his older brother was surprised when he refused to back down on his quest for Emma is still beyond his understanding.

By the time he makes it back to his ship, night has long since fallen. There are a few men wandering above deck as they stumble about from too many libations, but it’s otherwise quiet. Smee is waiting for him when he returns, however, his look anxious and excited.

“Did you get what you were after, sir?”

“Aye, Smee. I did. Your cuff was well worth the price I paid both to have it made and to compensate your hard work.” He grins, the life coming back to him besides the exhaustion weighing him down. He holds open his hand so Smee can see the beans, the moonlight hitting their translucent surfaces and making them glint. “After a hearty meal and a few hours rest, the ship will be left under your control as my new quartermaster, until the point in time that I may complete the next part of my journey.”

Smee opens his mouth to respond, a smile overtaking the man’s face, before his expression morphs into one of horror as his eyes catch something over Killian’s shoulder.

“I think not, _dearie_!”

Every hair on Killian’s head stands on edge at the sound of the voice behind him. Never having personally interacted with the Dark One, he’s only heard tale of what he sounds like, but even without looking he knows who he’s about to face. His breathing speeds up, the adrenaline crashing into his already tired system like water breaking from a dam, and he turns slowly to regard the man that has stolen so much from him.

“And what makes you think you can stop me?”

“You’re going to hand those beans over to me, one way or another,” he says, his voice manic and high-pitched. “It was a risky thing you did, dearie, talking my maid into giving you information about where I send my pets.” With a giggle, and a steepling of his claw-like fingers, Rumplestiltskin begins circling him like he’s some form of prey. Killian glances around, realizing that Smee is frozen – _literally_ frozen in place – with his mouth still hanging open in warning. All other movement around them has ceased, where he can’t even hear the sound of the waves lapping against the hull of his ship.

“How did you manage to do it, Captain Jones? Did you offer her gold? Did you offer her safe passage for an escape?”

“I offered her kindness and repaired that ramshackle cart for her.”

The Dark One glowers at him, the expression slightly less sinister as the man glitters in the moonlight, but Killian knows better than to mock the man’s appearance. “And did she tell you that your precious Emma Swan was transported to another realm?”

“Why do you think I’m looking for Emma Swan?”

“Oh, come now, dearie. I’ve got eyes and ears all around the world, eager for a favor, eager to make a deal. But all magic comes at a price, and your price for trickery will be to lose your chance to transport yourself anywhere at all.”

Killian’s temper flares hot, and his face hardens in anger as he clutches the beans tightly in his left hand, moving his right to draw his sword and pray to any god listening to help him not perish before he can get Emma.

“I can’t have you mucking up all my hard work, Captain Jones,” Rumplestiltskin crows. Just as Killian pulls his sword free, an agonizing pain goes through his left arm. In a detached sense of reality, Killian looks at where his hand should be, but even as the caustic burn at the immediate cauterization starts working across the now-empty space, he cannot reconcile the sight of his hand lying on the deck, still tightly clutching the beans in a fist.

“Good luck finding anyone who will _lend you a hand_ , dearie!” With another giggle, a small puff of smoke transports his hand into the clutches of the devil-man, and with a bigger swirl of the dark purple smoke, the man himself is gone without a trace. With the beans. With his hope to find Emma. And his _bloody fucking hand_.

It's only when Smee reaches for him that Killian realizes he’s kneeling on the deck, screaming in the agony that has now taken over his left wrist. Killian falls forward, cradling his arm to his chest. With his right hand, he grasps at the familiar feeling of the mast, his fingers tangling in a loosened rope from the rigging as he tries to pull himself upright. Instead he grabs onto one of the hooks, closing his fingers around the cool metal as tightly as he can and wishing to plunge the pointy tip right through the heart of Rumplestiltskin.

It takes a great deal of rum, but his men eventually get him to his bed that night. They wrap a cloth around the wound that’s already scarring, thanks to bloody magic, but Killian refuses to let go of the hook he managed to latch onto earlier.

The healing process from his confrontation with the Dark One is initially quite terrible. There are fever dreams, and phantom pains, and real pains all warring for his body’s attention at every moment. He hides away in his cabin while the worst of it passes, knowing he only need to call out for one of his men to attend to him.

The second state he enters fills him with rage and a burning need for revenge on the reptilian man who stole his hand. But when anger isn’t filling his veins and he’s not struggling to see past his own fantasies of gutting Rumplestiltskin, he battles against fear. He worries about what the loss of an appendage will mean to his family. He begins having nightmares soon after: Liam looking at him with disgust, Snow and David’s thinly veiled repulsion, Emma recoiling from his touch…

The men again ply him with rum in an attempt to ease his sleep. While his body rests, his mind seldom does. Alone in his cabin, he devises and discards hundreds of ideas. He considers climbing the beanstalk again, but that would be far more difficult without the use of both hands. As he thinks about this, he twirls the hook from the rigging, watching the light glint off the metal. Digging through his desk, he finds a file and begins sharpening the tip as he lets his thoughts wander.

No, the beanstalk will have also likely been re-enchanted. And the cuff he had Smee purchase was lost during the altercation with the Dark One. The time and effort it would take to get a new one, not to mention the energy it would take for him to make it up one handed, means that option is no longer on the list. As Killian runs through other ideas, he stares at the hook that he’s just turned into a weapon. Sifting around his desk, he finds a mostly-blank piece of parchment and a broken bit of charcoal and sketches out a brace that could easily fit over his wrist.

During their next stop in a port, Killian sends Smee out with a sack of gold, the hook, and the drawing he’s now copied onto its own parchment. There are several other modifications he’s designed, along with a new safe to keep his treasured items in that will use the base of the hook as the key.

They ransack a merchant ship from Misthaven shortly after Killian begins wearing the hook where his left hand used to be. As he locks it into place, he feels the last vestiges of who he used to be falling away, and with a flourish of his coat, Killian boards the smaller vessel to oversee the plundering of the wares onboard.

They keep the crew of the merchant ship huddled together on the deck, all of them silent and quivering as the pirates overturn every loose board to uncover the items that will get them the most coin. Even though this ship doesn’t belong to the Royal Navy, it’s likely that they’ve all been warned about crossing paths with the former lieutenant.

He looks to the youngest one, the one that stares at the deck beneath his feet as he tries to keep his composure. Thinking again of the hook at the end of his arm and the sensation of shedding his former life, he reaches out with the hook and lifts the young lad’s chin with the curved edge of the metal.

“Do me a favor and deliver a message to your king. Let him know that Killian Jones is dead. The _Jolly Roger_ is now sailed under the authority of Captain Hook.” He leers when he finishes the sentence, his gut churning regardless at the thought of Liam’s face when he gets that piece of news. He quickly buries those thoughts and raises his eyebrow at the young man before he turns and stalks back to his own ship.

He leaves his crew to pull back the plank and get them on their way, while he heads straight for his cabin to mourn the loss of a man so young, a man in love, a man with hopes and dreams. He toasts his former self with a shot of rum, following it with one after the other until the bottle is empty and he’s passed out on his bunk.

The search for a way to Emma starts fresh after Killian declares himself dead, taking on and wearing the moniker of Hook with pride as he strikes fear into those he meets with the gleaming metal. He has nothing but hatred for the man that took his hand, but his revenge will have to wait until he returns the princess to her family.

He takes the helm to clear his mind; it’s the only time he admits in daylight that he still loves Emma, but is also fully aware that too much has changed. There is no way that she will love him after all that he’s done.

The one man he can’t seem to intimidate goes by the name Blackbeard, and while Hook has heard of him, he’s never met the other captain after almost three years on the same seas. When they _do_ finally meet, it’s at a tavern at a port, where the cocky git is claiming to have a magic bean. Even having one in his possession would be better than nothing. But the only thing Blackbeard is willing to do is gamble for the bean.

“That’s not bloody likely, mate,” Hook drawls, taking another mouthful of ale.

“Bet your ship, or no bean. Easy as that, Hook.” The other man spreads his hands wide. “Unless you think you’ll lose.” Blackbeard gestures to the cards in front of him, but Hook knows that three other men have walked away from this table tonight, all of them with the same expression as he’s about to leave with.

He wants to kill the other pirate. Plain and simple. He does still have a code, however, so he walks away instead.

It takes three more months and about five additional frown lines being etched into his face, until just before Emma’s twenty-eighth birthday, to find another lead for how to get to where she is. This time it comes from stumbling upon a mermaid in need. Hook has taken to skulking about the docks while his men enjoy each port, and it’s only because he hears a commotion that he wanders further away from the weathered planks and onto the sand of the beach.

What he finds is a mermaid desperately reaching for an object around three feet away from her outstretched hand, and no matter how hard she thrashes, she stays stuck where she is. Hook knows from experience that if she does not get back to the water before daylight, she will likely suffocate when the tide goes out. He wonders why a mermaid would willingly put herself in such a position until he gets a little closer and sees what the item is that she’s trying to retrieve. It looks similar to the one he commissioned for the beanstalk, so there’s no mistaking it’s a magical cuff.

The mermaid herself looks young, but definitely too old to trap herself on the beach. What magic could potentially be worth her life? He takes his time approaching; it’s not that he’s been outright mean to any of the merfolk in the world, but there have been times he and his crew have been known to taunt the ones they cross from the deck of the ship. There also may have been an incident regarding a mermaid’s brassiere-like top, but neither he nor the mermaid were mad about the outcome of that moment, so he doesn’t count it.

When he reaches the cuff on the sand, he stops and stands over it, looking down at the redhead still valiantly reaching for the item with little regard for the fact that her tail is barely even touching the water anymore. The moment his boots stop on either side of the cuff, she looks up at him, a mixture of apprehension and determination crossing her face as she momentarily stops her movements.

“If I hand this to you, and get you back to the safety of the water, what will you do in return for me?”

She stares at him for a second, taking in the leering expression as he lifts his eyebrows, and her gaze falls to his hook.

“Not the same thing Pearl did, if that’s what you’re thinking. Which, by the way, is gross.”

“Come now, lass, you just clearly haven’t spent your time above the water doing anything fun.”

“Go away, Hook. I don’t need your help.”

“And what do you plan to do when the tide goes all the way out and you’re stuck on the sand?”

“I’m sure I’ll,” she stretches even more, looking forlorn as she realizes her tail is completely out of the water now, “figure something out.”

Hook sighs, raising his eyes to the heavens before crouching down in the sand. He picks up the cuff, just holding onto it for a moment as he waits for her to make eye contact. “Lass, what’s your name?”

She deflates a little, clearly looking defeated as she relaxes and props her chin on her hand, elbow in the sand, a petulant tilt to her lips. “I’m Ariel,” she finally says.

“Ariel, what is the reason for you almost beaching yourself for a magic cuff?”

“How do _you_ know it’s magic?”

“I’ve seen a thing or two, love. Now, what could be so important about this magical nonsense that you’re in danger of killing yourself?”

She doesn’t speak, instead flapping her tail against the sand a couple times, wiggling to test how land-stuck she really is. Totally stuck, is the answer.  Ariel mumbles something, more to the sand than to Hook, but it’s just a single word that he thinks he heard correctly.

“Care to try that one again?”

“ _Love_ , okay? I’m trying to reach that cuff because I’m in love, and I can’t be with the prince if I look like _this_.” She gestures to her tail, the appendage in question slapping harshly against the wet sand. She folds her arms and drops her chin to them, her chin trembling in an effort not to cry. “Now why don’t you take the stupid cuff and leave me to rot or whatever it is you plan to do.”

“I know what it’s like to be willing to give your life for love,” Hook says, a hint of softening in his voice as he does.

“Yeah, right. How many fish do you catch on that hook of yours with that bait?”

“Aye, ‘twas true,” he continues, ignoring her sarcastic tone. “My love was kidnapped, and so I became a pirate to try to find a quicker way to get her back when the king and queen’s methods weren’t going fast enough.”

“King and queen? You mean King David and Queen Snow?” Ariel tilts her head to the side as she considers him. “I heard that the young man that deserted their navy was killed. By _you_.” She points her finger accusingly in his direction.

“We’re one in the same, love. But let’s keep that a secret between us, yeah?” He even lowers his voice for effect, even though they’re the only two around.

Ariel narrows her eyes at him, and Hook does his best to let his guard drop a little, to ease the scowl that resides on his face most often so she can see the last vestiges of a scared lieutenant hiding behind his eyes.

“I can’t imagine Captain Hook in love, or as a friend of Snow White.”

“She took me in when I was just a lad, and kept me safe in the castle while my brother was off becoming a captain in the navy. She used to scold me for stealing sweets from the kitchens, and then secretly smile at me when the king looked away.”

“You were in love with their daughter,” Ariel states. Apparently, whatever he was hoping to show her in his expression has gotten through, and his face falls further as he nods to confirm, even though it wasn’t a question. He swallows hard, deciding the subject needs changed immediately before he makes a fool of himself.

“Again,” he says, holding the cuff at level with her, “if I give this to you – if I help you back to the water so you don’t die of exposure up here – what will you do for me in exchange?”

“It depends on what you’re looking for, Captain.”

“Passage to another realm,” he answers quickly. Merfolk are rumored to be able to travel to any realm they choose. He’d have to find out which one leads to Emma –

“I can’t,” Ariel says, and by the way her shoulders droop and her face falls, it seems like it’s not of her own choosing that she can’t help. “Transporting humans across the portal realms underwater takes much more strength and magic than I can access.” She stops and thinks for a minute, mulling something over in her head until she speaks again. “But if it’s for love, and it is true love, then you need to go to Neptune’s bar in Atlantis and speak to Ursa.”

“Who is Ursa?”

“The only one that can help you get to the princess.”

He considers her words, and while he fears getting sent on a wild Swan chase, as it were, he is also out of options. With a shift forward, he reaches out and hands Ariel the cuff. “Now how do you suppose we get you back in the water?”

Ariel smiles brightly, slipping the cuff on her wrist and immediately being engulfed in a magical light. Hook shields his eyes from it, only dropping his hand when the light fades away. Ariel is pushing herself up, and he’s shocked to see her standing.

“I’ll walk on my own, thanks.” Ariel flashes him another smile, leaning down to brush some of the sand from her skirt and feet. “Now, I have a date with a prince. Good luck, Captain.”

“Killian,” he says, almost without thought. “But again, that’ll be our secret.”

“Thank you, Killian. Good luck getting her back. She’ll be lucky to have you rescuing her.”

Hook thinks about correcting her, telling her that he’s no longer worthy of the affections Emma has for him, and that he’s only interested in returning her to her rightful home. But she looks so hopeful and happy as she wanders off to find her own love that he can’t bring himself to dash her dreams.

They leave for Atlantis after Hook gives the men a couple days to get the necessary supplies ready. They’ll have time for women and ale in the next port, so he’s not concerned with the grumbling he hears as they slowly file back on board throughout the morning. With every gust of wind, Hook feels closer to the goal he’s been reaching for, even if it took nearly three years. He’s not sure if this Ursa can help him, but at this point, he’s almost desperate to return Emma to her rightful place.

He’s heard no news from Misthaven, and he can’t even be sure what they’ve found about her whereabouts, but he’s sure he would’ve heard anything if they had news…

With a pit in his stomach, Hook realizes he wouldn’t have heard anything after running into that merchant ship. As far as Misthaven knows, he’s dead.

They arrive in Atlantis at the time when the taverns are just opening their doors and the men are starting to pile in. Hook sets his men loose, ensuring a few stay behind for security purposes before setting off for Neptune’s bar.

The lighting inside is lower than the average establishment, and Hook finds the men that are stooped over their tankards are solemn and silent. The woman that weaves her way between them is singing as she drops off refills and picks up empty glasses. He signals the bartender for a drink of his own as he places himself at the bar, and he listens.

It’s the most unusual scenario he’s ever seen in a tavern; the patrons are quiet and subdued, the other waitstaff move calmly, and the woman weaving between the tables just keeps singing. It takes until three sips of his own beverage before his shoulder droop. The tension that always keeps in his neck and shoulders melts away with each note the woman sings, and he feels his eyelids get heavy until he’s in the same stupor that all the other inhabitants seem to be under.

When the woman ends her song, Hook shakes his head a little bit, shaking loose the images of what his life could’ve been at this point if Emma had never been kidnapped. It almost physically pains him to break up the dream of dandling a babe on his knee, her wispy blonde hair tickling his chin as he pulls her close, Emma’s hand affectionately rubbing along his shoulder before she settles next to them. And when he opens his eyes and sees his surroundings, it breaks his heart a little more than Hook would’ve thought possible. He thought those dreams were long dead and buried.

The woman stops by the end of the bar where he’s seated, taking in his total appearance – including the hook – and leans closer to him.

“I never thought I’d see a man like Captain Hook sitting in a bar for lost souls,” she comments. She doesn’t move on, though, clearly waiting for him to speak.

“I’m looking for someone named Ursa.” He ignores the obvious pry for information to jump straight to the point.

“Ursa isn’t here right now. What is your business with her?”

“I was told by a young mermaid named Ariel that she might be able to help me with a delicate issue.”

“Ariel, hm? Well, Ursa can meet you in room five in an hour. I’ll inform her that you’re waiting,” she says, her head cocked to the side to consider him. He didn’t get to be a feared pirate captain by being unobservant, so he knows that the woman he needs to speak to is right in front of him, but there’s clearly a reason she stays hidden. He nods, downing the rest of his drink and signaling for another.

“I need a key to room five,” he tells the man behind the bar. The man looks at the serving woman and waits until she nods before handing over the key. They both go back to what they were doing prior; the man heads to the other side of the bar to help another patron, and the woman takes up a new song as Hook stands up. He pauses a second, the music drawing him in quicker this time, but the woman turns him towards the hallway and pushes him forward with one hand squarely between his shoulders.

The wait in the room is tedious. He has nothing to occupy him, so he spends his time composing letters in his mind to those he wishes he could send them to, but won’t. First is a letter for Emma, detailing how hard he’s trying to fight for her, to get her back, even if he doesn’t believe he can fight for _them_ any longer. He writes one to Liam, apologizing for his behavior as a lieutenant and a brother, in which he repeats his brother’s favorite saying. A man unwilling to fight for what he wants, after all, is a man who deserves what he gets.

He details a long letter to the king and queen, apologizing for not protecting Emma hard enough, for leaving her unaccompanied in the first place and allowing the Dark One to get through their defenses. He’s still not sure how the monster did it, but he’s sure it’s his own fault. He thanks them for always caring for him, and accepting him into their home. As royals, they had no obligation to do any of what they did for him and Liam, but they did, and they made sure he was always cared for, even when he was old enough to know better.

Hook thinks of the last letter Snow sent to him – to _Killian_ – wishing him another happy birthday and telling him he can always come home. He had stashed that one with all the other correspondences he’s received since leaving, locking them away with the ribbon that used to tie his hair back, and the few personal items he ran away with.

It’s almost time for Ursa to meet with him when Hook realizes that it wasn’t the music at all, but the ale that brought this all on. He’s not sure what magic the liquid is infused with, but he frowns as he stares into the bottom of his tankard. The woman downstairs had called him a lost soul – is that what he really is?

He’s so lost in his own thoughts that he almost misses his suspicions being confirmed. The woman from down in the tavern enters as quietly as she can, checking over her shoulder to make sure no one is watching her.

“Normally, I would send you on your way without asking what way I can help you. But if Ariel sent you, then you’ve obviously found favor with one of my kind.”

“Your kind?”

For the second time in so many weeks, Hook shields his eyes from the bright glow of magic, looking on curiously once the spell settles and the woman in front of him transforms from the waist down into a creature half-octopus. In her hand is a cuff much like the one he helped Ariel retrieve, except with different colors on the band and a few extra embellishments to pass it off as jewelry.

“I thought ‘Ursa’ translated to bear,” Hook remarks, trying to appear bored as he settles himself on the lumpy mattress.

“I figured it was close enough to Ursula, but more fitting to my personality. What do you want, Hook?”

Oh, _Ursula_. Well, it’s no wonder she’s not excited to see him. Ariel is the only one of the merfolk he’s ever done a favor for. Now to meet one of the most powerful sea witches out there, he’s sure his luck has run out and the woman will feed him to the fishes tonight. But Ursula just secures her cuff back on her wrist, moving to sit next him once her voluminous skirts are back in place and her feet peek out at the bottom.

“I need passage to a different realm,” he tells her plainly.

“You want to get to Emma,” she interprets. He’s not sure how or why she knows this, but the fact that she finds his true meaning immediately is a little disconcerting. “The sea folk are my friends. You may not speak to humans about your true intentions, but you tell the fish plenty.”

She definitely has a point; at least he knows that her spies can’t talk to the Dark One.

“You may not be a close friend to the merfolk, but we have an enemy in common,” she says. “The Dark One has captured my father, thanks to a bad deal. No matter how hard I try, he refuses to barter to give him back. The only thing he would take in return was my singing voice, and as you can see, that’s something I find necessary in my work on land.”

“So, you want me to kidnap your father to bring him home?”

“I’m fairly certain that when you find what you’re looking for, you’ll find what I’m looking for, as well. Besides, I am highly amused that this man in front of me that calls himself a fearsome pirate captain is all bent out of shape because he’s trying to bring a woman back to where she belongs. I never figured Captain Hook to be a lovesick fool.”

Hook growls, but doesn’t bother responding. Not when she’s right, after all. He stands to pace the length of the room, as Ursula explains that she plans to help him.

“For as awful as the Dark One is, he doesn’t like to kill people. Instead, he just removes them from this land and transports them to this new land. They’re out of his way, they can have a peaceful existence without meddling in any of his business. It works out perfectly for _him_ but ruins families across the lands.”

“If you know where this other land is, then that is where I wish to go.”

“I’m not a genie, Hook. You can’t just wish it and it’ll be true. There are stipulations you have to consider.”

“Like what?”

“It’s extremely difficult to transport a whole human across the waterways. To transport myself, it takes a lot of energy. To take both of us would take even more of my magic than I can handle.”

“Does it have to be the waterways? Can’t you find another way around to transport me?”

“I don’t know what magic you think I possess, but that’s not something I have the ability to do. Besides, the waterways are too large for the Dark One to keep track of, or to tamper with. It’s your safest bet.”

They sit in silence for a moment, and Hook starts to worry that this is another lost cause.

“Perhaps if there was a spell I could use to transform you. There are a lot more complications involved in this than you’re considering, Hook. The Dark One has eyes everywhere. If you waltzed right into this realm, he would surely know.”

“What kind of spell are you thinking?”

“I need you to be small enough to transport, and inconspicuous enough to get around. You still need to get Emma back, so you’ll need the ability to be human at times, as well.”

“I’m not fond of magic,” Hook comments, holding up his hook for clarification, “but if it’ll get Emma back home, that’s more important to me.”

“Good. That’s what matters right now. Go get your affairs in order, Captain. Come back to me after the full moon has set and we will get you to the realm where you’ll find Emma. Just to be safe, I want you to understand that there’s a chance you won’t come back from this place. Are you ready for that? Would you be prepared to let go of everything in this land?”

A brief pang of regret flashes through him, and Liam’s face is forefront in his mind. Perhaps he should find a way to contact his brother – just to let him know he’s alive and well. It’s something he’ll consider as he readies the rest of his affairs for this journey.

“Aye, I’ll be prepared for that in the worst-case scenario. How long will your magic spell last?”

“I normally give any magic a lifespan of six months. Longer than that and things can go wrong. Shorter than that and you’re not guaranteed to succeed in your mission.”

With a brief nod of his head, he exits the room, making sure to place a few extra coins on the bar when he passes by and nodding to the bartender, as well. He hopes the extra money will pay for silence, just in case the Dark One is aware of where Hook is.

Smee is on board when Hook returns, and he immediately calls him to his quarters to discuss what’s happened. Of course, the news that he will be acting as captain is a bit of a shock.

“I chose you as first mate. You are now to act in my stead until I can return. If, after seven months, I have not returned, you may captain this ship as you choose, or pass on the responsibility to the quartermaster instead. Do we have an agreement?”

“Aye, sir,” Smee responds, his back straight as he salutes and goes to gather the crew to tell them all.

Hook, meanwhile, sits down to do just what Ursula told him to do. He stows away his most prized possessions in his chest, locks it up with his hook, and covers it up in the back of his closet. He sits at the desk for hours, trying to will the right words to come to him so he might write to his brother. What he ends up writing doesn’t begin to cover his feelings, but it’s the best he can do. He signs it “Killian” and leaves instructions that it be delivered in a year if he does not return.

Within three days, Hook has squared away everything that he can, and he watches the last of the full moon’s cycle end. He heads back to Neptune’s bar to find Ursula, but the bartender hands him a note instead. She’s left him directions to a spot by the water, hidden from prying eyes.

“I’m glad to see you didn’t change your mind,” Ursula says in greeting. “I’ll need you down to just your drawers, Captain.”

He stops in shock, somehow not realizing that to be transported into something else, he would lose his clothes and personal effects.

“Don’t worry, Hook. I have a chest here that we will magically seal together. Your items will be safe until you return. If you do not return, I will send them to a place of your choosing.”

The greatcoat goes into the chest first. He checks to lightly stroke his fingers along the ribbon he tucked in there. He taps the flask and bows his head momentarily, before folding the heavy leather the best he can and placing it in the trunk. The hook goes next, and then the brace, and his arm feels lighter and awkward without the appendage he’s grown so used to at this point. He stashes his boots and stockings next, and begins fully undressing after that.

“I’d follow your orders, lass, but I’m a pirate. There are no drawers under these trousers and I’m certainly not wasting the leather.”

She purses her lips, but otherwise makes no comment, until the last item of his is in the trunk and the lid has been shut and locked.

“Place your hand on the lid right here,” she says, indicating a circle with an anchor in it. She places her own hand on another with an engraving of a kraken (fitting, if you ask him) before his hand warms from the magic she pushes through the wood. “Who will open this chest if you fail to return?”

He swallows, feeling much more like a bare lieutenant than a captain. “Liam Jones of Misthaven,” he responds.

“You’ll lose consciousness while I transform you. I’ll do the rest of the work getting you to the shores of this other land, and then you’ll be on your own. When you get to Emma, you’ll have to convince her to return with you, and then you’ll contact me. I’ll leave the appropriate shell hidden on the beach that you’ll be able to find with this.” She presses her thumb against the skin on his inner forearm, but the mark that’s left behind when her magic fades is nothing but a faint spiral. To show him how it works, she brings the shell in question closer to him, and Hook watches the spiral darken the closer it gets. The shell emits a faint light, as well, to help distinguish it from all the others.

He nods in understanding, his nerves on end as he realizes he’s about to be reunited with Emma, finally after all these years.

“Are you ready, Captain?”

“Killian.”

Ursula blinks once, but a smile breaks her otherwise stoic demeanor. “Okay, Killian. Are you ready?”

“Aye.”

“I hope to see you in six months, Killian.”

He tenses as her magic engulfs him, and then his world goes dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At the risk of throwing in a spoiler here, the other partners will be discussed. Next week, the full moon rises in Storybrooke, and it all starts coming together!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a bit of magic in the air, but all Emma knows is she's hungover and unamused with the cruel joke that should've been her day off.

It turns out that apple martinis and tequila are a terrible combination, at least that's certainly what Emma's head and stomach inform her of as she wakes up. Suddenly, the idea of going out with Regina is the worst idea she's ever had, or at least the worst she remembers.

Nearby, her phone starts ringing, and she reaches out to answer it more to stop the racket rather than to find out who is calling her on her day off.

“Emma, I’m sorry, but I need you to swing by and take calls at the station while Mulan and I are out on an emergency call. There’s apparently been some kind of commotion down at the docks and Merida and Phillip are already out on a traffic stop.”

“But all I have to do is answer the phones, right?”

“Oh, geez, you sound terrible. Are you ill?”

“No, I went out with Regina last night.”

“Apple martinis?”

“Apple martinis,” she confirms. “Give me ten minutes and I’ll be there. But I’m not wearing my uniform.”

“That’s fine. You’re a savior, Emma.”

She makes a crude noise as she hangs up the call, rolling from the bed and throwing on a pair of jeans from her floor. She’s almost to the front door when she realizes she hasn’t fed her cat, so she jogs back to the kitchen to drop a handful of dry food in his bowl as she races back to the door.

“Sorry, Cat! I promise I’ll give you tuna when I get home!”

Then she’s out the door and running to her car so she can drive the speed limit like a good, law-abiding cop.

Of course, as all emergency calls go, her day ends up being a lot more than just answering the phones, and it’s halfway through the second hour that Emma is incredibly grateful she keeps an extra set of clothes in her locker. The second Phillip and Merida get back from an additional call down at The Rabbit Hole, Will Scarlet promptly throws up all over her.

From there, a fight breaks out between the drunk and Leroy, and it takes all three of them to break up the two of them. Emma throws her soiled clothes (dampened all the way down to her underwear) on the floor in disgust and runs through the dinky shower they have for just such moments.

“Hey, Emma? Can you get down to the docks to help Graham? Apparently, the accident was a little bigger than they originally thought and they can’t get the workers to stop walking around without giving their full statements. He and Mulan are really struggling.”

She pulls on her backup shoes and holds back every urge to grumble or groan in aggravation. At least leaving the station means she can swing by Granny’s and get a damn cup of coffee. Even as she thinks it, she whips out her phone and places the to-go order for a grilled cheese, as well, so she can combat some of the hangover and severe case of Hulk that’s lingering in her periphery.

It takes _hours_ for her to get home, and when she does, she all but dropkicks the bag of her dirty clothes into the washing machine before stomping into the kitchen. It’s only after she’s downed half a bottle of water that she finally takes a deep breath. She takes yet another grilled cheese out of a take-out bag to set up her own dinner, only pausing to dump a healthy amount of ketchup into the lid of the Styrofoam container to dip her onion rings.

She stands at the counter to eat it, sighing in relief when she licks the last crumbs from her fingers and dumps the container in the garbage. _Ugh_. That’s full, too. She’ll have to take that out before she can fully relax. While she’s at it, she opens the fridge to see if there’s anything expired and sees the partial can of tuna on the second shelf.

“Shit, I can’t believe I forgot to feed him when I got home,” she mutters to herself. “Cat! Come get your dinner!” She spoons the last of the tuna into his dish, dripping the juice from the can all over the floor when she checks her watch. _“Dammit!”_

Silence greets her, which is odd. There are days that he meanders from the bedroom after a lengthy nap, still blinking open his eyes as he heads for his food dish, but this is late even for him. She figures he’ll come out soon and pulls a fresh liner out of the box under the sink to change out the garbage can.

“Cat? Come on, buddy, it’s dinner time. I did promise you tuna tonight, little man.”

Emma’s too busy fussing with wrangling the bag from the trash can to notice the footfalls that finally come in response to her voice.

“I’d much rather prefer something a little more human, if you don’t mind.”

Emma whirls around, faced with the man standing at the entrance to her kitchen wrapped in nothing but the blanket she still keeps in the corner for the nights Cat doesn’t sleep next to her. In her state of shock, Emma slips on the tuna juice she spilled and goes down hard – hard enough that she should worry, whenever she comes to, about whether or not she has a concussion.

-x-

When Ursula told him that she’d be changing him into a creature that would be able to track and blend in at the same time, he had imagined something far more majestic. He imagined himself a powerful beast of moderate size that could sniff out Emma immediately and find his way to her heart. The sea witch told him to close his eyes, and when he awoke, he would already be in the land without magic, and he would already be transformed.

And awake he did. His first dismay is finding that he was not transformed with all his limbs, and honestly wonders if it’s because Ursula couldn’t change what wasn’t there, or if it’s because he’s a pirate and ignored one too many mermaids during his time on the seas. The second problem is the vessel she chose to send him in. It takes one look around him to realize everything is _much_ larger than he is, and it takes great effort and time to haul himself up the beach and away from the incoming tide that woke him.

Sand, it turns out, is not just difficult when barefoot. It’s also hell on paws. On the side of a building, he spots a ledge that might be a good vantage point for him to better see anything at all. He aims and leaps, surprised when he makes it, then struts along the window ledge with pride; he shouldn’t have doubted himself at all. He’s Captain Hook, and he can accomplish _anything_ he sets his mind to. The proof is in the fact that he’s here, in the land where he will find Emma and bring her home, where all others doubted him.

He’s here – _as a bloody house cat_.

When he catches sight of himself in the window, his back arches and his fur fluffs out in all directions. He _knows_ that’s his own reflection and yet, the indignity of being turned from his handsome self into something most often kept in barns to catch mice is just _too much_ for him.

With an endless stream of curses directed towards that bloody witch, he jumps from the ledge and moves onward. From what he can tell, the waterline is at the edge of town, and he needs to head somewhere he’ll be able to find people. Where there are people, there are bound to be scents that he’ll be able to pick up. Currently, all he can still smell is sea water and fish, probably left on a grudge by Ursula herself.

Much like the search for Emma when she first went missing, Killian takes a methodical approach to searching for her here. He’s totally unfamiliar with the terrain, so it takes longer than he wants, but there’s no shortage of places for him to hide for a night when he needs to sleep, and there’s a food establishment that excels at wasting their leftovers, which results in Killian eating quite well more than one night in a row.

During the daytime, he’s careful to remain discretely hidden. There’s only one person he seeks, and he still hasn’t caught scent of her yet, even after a week of searching. There are two places where he catches what might be her on the air, but by the time he finds a trail of the smell, it’s already dissipating.

It’s almost pure luck that he ends up behind the building he does at the start of his second week searching. He’s judging the dumpster, trying to surmise if he’ll get trapped inside if he makes the jump, but he’s distracted when a blur of a scent catches in the wind. He immediately trots around the building, and he picks up speed and fully runs when he sees her blonde hair.

He wants to call out; he even tries meowing as loud as he can, but it’s of no use. She’s already in one of the metal contraptions he’s dodged more times than he can count at this point, and she’s pulling away. He skids to a stop, changing direction in order to avoid being run over by Emma, and watches with disappointment as she goes.

By the time she returns home that evening, Killian is already asleep, having waited as long as he could but still unable to resist his natural urge to rest. From the rafters of the parking structure, he thinks he’ll wake when she comes home, but she exits her vehicle and heads for her dwelling without him stirring at all.

The next day, he’s woken by a rude man with a broom, shooing him out of his hiding spot and chasing him down the road. Killian doesn’t look back, just runs as fast as he can until he no longer hears the thunderous footsteps behind him. He huffs in exhaustion from his new crouched hiding spot, squeezed between bushes and the side of a house, and he tries to decide how he’ll possibly be able to keep watch and keep alive at the same time. Neither are working out so well for him at the moment.

He finds a new hiding spot each time he must rest, unwilling to be lulled into false complacency again by believing himself invisible. At another moment, a young lass of maybe eight or nine catches sight of him and wants to keep him, and it’s only thanks to her mother’s insistence that they cannot adopt him and his own ability to escape situations that saves his tail (almost literally).

After several failed attempts to get her attention, Killian isn’t sure that he’ll ever succeed. That’s not something he ever thought after commandeering his brother’s ship, and it’s certainly not something he ever expected to think after going through everything he did. He’s survived unlikely sea storms, and an encounter with the Dark One himself with only a hand lost in the process.

But this land, and this woman, are both so _equally_ frustrating, that he’s surprised he hasn’t just curled up to perish in one of his hiding spots yet. That thought swirls about his head, and then he realizes it could be the new plan. First, he must wait for nightfall. There’s a time that the man with the broom always disappears, and he assumes that’s when he retires for the evening.

What Killian doesn’t anticipate is the rapid cooling of the temperatures as he enacts his disguised waiting on the stoop for her to return. Pretending to be nearing death is much easier when the concrete beneath his smaller body is chilling his bones. He does fall asleep again while waiting, and as the weather gets colder, it becomes less of an act and more of him curling up tighter in order to not die before she gets home.

It takes hours, by his count, but when he hears someone approaching, he somehow knows it’ll be her. Sure enough, when he squints open an eye, Emma is looking back at him in indecision. The wind gusts harder, and he closes his eyes and finds the hope he’s kept buried in his heart all this time, holding onto it tightly as he shivers uncontrollably.

She lifts him carefully, and he feels his entire body sag with relief that it worked. His plan _worked_. He stays curled the way she puts him, letting her take control and finding he doesn’t have the energy to fight, even if he wanted to. He’s transferred from her clothing to a towel, and from the towel (and a minor inspection for injuries, he assumes) to a warm blanket. When she cradles him against her, he finally opens his eyes to look at her fully, and he would weep with joy if he were human.

He’s in the arms of Emma Swan, who may have become leaner in the last three years, but her eyes still shine with care, and her arms still feel like home. He falls asleep again, knowing for sure that he’s safe where he is, and he is where he belongs.

When he wakes up, he’s surrounded by Emma’s scent, both from the blanket and from the woman asleep beneath him.

 _Not the way I would’ve preferred it_ , he thinks, but he wiggles free of the blanket and her arms as he becomes aware of the second scent he picked up. She’s put out food for him. In his obsession to get to her, he’s forgotten to eat for days, he thinks. It’s hard to gauge time when everything seems so much bigger and minutes feel like years. He tries to savor the tuna she’s placed in a bowl, but as soon as he tastes his first bite, he loses all bits of himself and he’s chasing the bowl across the table for the last scraps.

He abandons that bowl when he realizes there’s a second, this one filled with water. It’s clean water, not in the form of a puddle with dirt and grime visible in the bottom, and in his excitement, he drinks until his nose hits the bottom of the bowl. He twitches back, displeased with the liquid that’s just ended up in his nostrils, and sneezes once. Maybe there’s still some tuna that he missed in the bowl.

Alas, it is definitely empty, but he licks at the sides and bottom of the bowl until he’s found every crumb, every drop of the salty liquid it rested in, and licks the bowl right off the short table she placed it on. He hears a sigh to his left and looks over at Emma asleep on the couch.

 _Emma_. Emma will have more food for him. He leaps with ease the short distance from table back to her lap, and he sets about waking her up so he might request more food. Instead of anything that might be polite, however, Killian emits a single, obnoxious meow.

She mumbles a couple noises back at him, lifting and waving her hand as her brows draw together in her sleep. But he is hungry, and she has more food for him, he just _knows_ it. He meows again, pressing his paw into her thigh a little harder and putting his weight on that front leg. When she opens her eyes, his ears perk up and he feels his whiskers twitch. It’s worth the sleepy smile she gives him, and he happily follows her when she asks if he wants more food. He watches from his perch on the floor as she fills each dish again and then carries them back to where they were before.

Immediately, he hops back up on the table and heads straight for the tuna. As her hand strokes down his back, his body’s natural instincts kick in and he begins to purr, but with his mouth otherwise occupied with the food, it comes out more as a snarfled sound, broken by a chatty meow.

He comes back to himself when he finishes eating, and there’s some part of him that feels shame at his behavior, but he’s quickly realizing that if he’s to be stuck this way for all but three days per moon cycle, he’d better get used to the fact that he won’t always have control of his human instincts.

This proves true more than ever after Emma comes home after their terrifying run in with the animal doctor that violated him earlier in the day. She dumps toys that he would scoff at if he were himself, but this body decides that it _must_ attack, and it must destroy every small mouse, no matter how artificial they are.

Emma looks increasingly happy as he chases small bells to and fro across the carpet, however, so he does something he hasn’t done since he was a lad and lets go. His cat instincts immediately take over and there’s only some awareness in the back of his mind of his real name and his actual purpose. Otherwise, there’s a feather on a string that will soon be meeting with its demise, if he has anything to say about it.

Most amazingly, Emma invites him into her bed that night, informing him that she tends to have spatial issues while she sleeps. Not that she knows this, but he definitely already knows. And for the first time since she took him in, he has a moment of panic. He knows, because this was the woman he was to spend his life with. It’s been three years, and she may not even know who he is. It suddenly dawns on him that she could’ve fallen for someone in the time it took for him to get here, and he’s incredibly grateful that it doesn’t seem to be the case.

He considers going to his makeshift bed again, because it’s comfortable enough and he’s very aware of the fact that he no longer knows this woman like he used to, but something stops him. It’s the glimmer in her eye when she invites him up that gives away how lonely she is, and he cannot resist after that. He nimbly jumps up, making sure to stay as far from her legs as possible, and settles himself in. He goes to sleep that night trying to hold onto the hope that he will succeed, but feeling, for the first time in three years, the same hopelessness he felt on the morning he found her gone.

Over the next few weeks, Killian finds out much about Emma’s life since she was kidnapped, including the day she was found in the woods. She relays the information so offhandedly that he wonders if that’s how she handled it at the moment or if time has dulled her reactions to her own reappearance. She mentions that she doesn’t remember parts of her life still, and as Killian listens to her talk, he realizes that she must have no memory of Misthaven at all. Which means she doesn’t know she’s missing.

But where does she think her parents are? Will she remember him when he changes? Would it be better if he referred to her by her title or no? The thoughts go spiraling through his mind, and it makes him so dizzy that he spends much of the day napping.

“I don’t know where this ring came from,” she admits that night. “It was on my finger when I was found, but Regina seemed so surprised to see it that I honestly wonder if it’s not just something I found in the woods and lied about when she asked. I told her it was my mother’s.”

He’s on the back of the couch, settled on his belly with his arms stretched out in front of him, and he pulls them back and inches forward as she mentions this. There are a couple things that catch his attention. One is Regina’s name. There’s little chance it could be the same Regina from Misthaven’s history books, but then again, this is the Dark One’s creation. The second thing is the fact that Emma seems to somehow know the ring came from her mother, even if she doesn’t actively remember it. He scoots so close while she speaks that they’re both surprised when she turns her head and her nose is inches from his.

Emma leans forward once, bopping his nose with hers in an affectionate move, and the smile she gives him is worth the fact that he’s relieving himself in something like sand, but not sand, and better than sand, but so much worse than sand. When he transforms, he will definitely have some words to share with Emma regarding his experiences as a cat.

Since he cannot converse with her, Killian spends his time reliving their timeline of a relationship from meeting to that final morning. There are the tender young ages, where everything was new and they were careless with their words and their bodies, flinging them from branch to branch in the trees in the meadow they would claim as their own. He tries to remember every nuance of that adolescent friendship, how her eyes looked when she was angry, the cherry stain of her lips after they were given tarts that had just cooled.

Another day passes, and he thinks of the years when their friendship grew into something uncertain. Hanging from the curtains while Emma works on a strange invention, he thinks of the first time he offered his arm before they walked to the flower meadow and Emma took it, a blush appearing on her cheeks when he rested his hand over hers.

Killian is again struck with the terror that Emma will recognize he’s not a whole person anymore without his other hand. At the same time, he realizes he’s stuck in the curtains. His one paw is too entangled in the fabric and if he retracts his claws, he’ll surely fall and injure himself. He has a couple options, but one of them is a little easier than the rest.

With a sad meow, he looks over his shoulder towards Emma. She’s wrapped up in her work, but the second the noise comes out of him, she looks over and tries to not chuckle. She pushes her chair back and comes over, carefully extracting him from the curtains while affectionately scolding him. She keeps him in her arms as she sits back down, and Killian decides that her lap is a fine place for his next nap time, and promptly stretches out and falls asleep.

Picking right up where his thoughts left off, he dreams of Emma in one of the lighter dresses she always preferred over ballgowns. With her hair being lifted by the wind, she smiles when she turns her face towards the sun, and Killian smiles at the sight. She’s eighteen and beautiful, wise beyond her years but with a streak of realism that he cannot fathom.

“You know, princess,” Killian states, kneeling down and offering his hand to her, “the queen will kill me if you come home with grass stains on that dress.”

“She’ll do no such thing,” Emma says, but still takes his hand and lets herself be drawn to her feet. Her hand stays in his, both of their attention drawn to it. It’s the first time Killian can think of nothing better than kissing the princess, but such thoughts should remain hidden.

“Why, uh, why wouldn’t she do that?” Killian asks. While his voice had changed with puberty, the low level it hits when he asks this question is more intense than either of them have heard before. She shivers, leaning closer to him without realizing it, and Killian can smell the floral scent clinging to her from the meadow around them.

“She adores you, for some reason. Cannot imagine why,” she murmurs, and Killian doesn’t even realize she’s going to kiss him until she already is, her lips tentatively touching his, her free hand pressed to the side of his neck.

The dream is knocked away when Emma shifts and Killian rolls at the same time, an ungodly noise coming from him as he squeaks and wheezes as he falls. He only knows that the adage about cats landing on their feet is true because he can no longer count how many times he’s tumbled to the ground and still landed upright.

Emma apologizes, ducking and tilting her head to find him underneath the desk, and she pats his head before going back to her work.

The day that Regina shows up at Emma’s door brings about a lot of things. First is that yes, she is _definitely_ the missing royal. Snow would be so happy to discover that she was wrongfully accused, which is what he _thinks_ he’s saying when he goes to her feet and chatters up at the missing woman. There’s also confirmation that the time here is or was tampered with, as Regina looks no older than she would’ve been when she went missing. Snow was young when the woman went missing, in that stage between young woman and girl, and Regina was scarcely a decade older than her. Now, Emma looks to be the same age as the woman standing in her living room. That is very long for time to stand still.

Of course, the nature of Regina’s visit also causes him anguish. Emma uses the term “fuckable” as she wanders off to her bedroom, and comes back looking just that. Killian blanches, realizing that Emma is heading out with the purpose of finding a man to sleep with. He wonders, not for the first time, how many men she’s been with since she got here.

His curiosity is immediately covered up by shame, as he has no room to speak. He’s been with quite a few women in the last three years, even if there were stipulations to their encounters. If this is what she wishes to do, then he has to handle his own emotions. Although, he wonders if he has enough time to dart out when they’re exiting the apartment. He doesn’t have to _be here_ for it, right?

Sadly, the door closes before he has a chance to escape, so the best he can do is tuck himself away when she returns, if she returns with someone else. He prepares for the worst night of his life – having to witness in any part, the woman he loves coming home with another – and also can feel the prickles of the oncoming shift.

This brings about a whole new level of panic, on his part. What the bloody hell will he do if the moon rises while Emma is still with this other man? There’s a whole new level of complication to this whole thing. Why did it have to be _tonight_ , of all nights?

Thankfully, his Emma is strong, and knows her own mind, and when the bastard she’s brought home vocalizes locking Killian up in the bathroom to get him out of the way, along with outwardly sleazy behavior, Emma tosses him out the door with barely a thought.

He just manages to avoid seeing her naked several times, despite hiding his face in his bed until he thinks it’s safe. He makes the mistake of looking up when she enters the room from the bathroom, just in time for her to wind her arm around her back to pluck at the clasps of her undergarment. He again buries his face in the bedding until she’s dressed for sleep and under the covers. Only then does he jump onto the bed with her, curling up by her pillow and listening to her sleepy murmurs. He expresses his own goodnight wishes to her as she curls her hand around his tail, trying to ease the panic in his chest.

In the morning, Emma’s phone rings right at the moment Killian stumbles into her closet. He manages to push the door closed most of the way, feeling the moon rising and his skin crawling just as Emma is scrambling to get ready to leave. He tries to judge how long until he shifts, but without knowing what time it is and precisely what time the moon will begin to rise, he’s left clueless. At least when the apartment door closes, he doesn’t fear that she’ll walk in mid-change.

It’s not until later in the day that the shift happens, and he gasps, his body shivering as the spell takes hold. An hour passes before he’s able to move, his body unaccustomed to the shift in his bones. He manages to lift himself from the floor when it becomes apparent he has to use the toilet, and he knows he needs hydration, as well. Who knows how long Emma will be gone, and he needs to care for his body in her absence.

He’s seen the toilet flushed plenty of times, so while he’s mystified by it, he still uses it with no difficulty. He uses any of the knowledge he’s gained about the living space to locate things like cups for drinking water, manages to use the water faucet with no problems, and then raids her cabinets for anything that looks remotely edible. It’s not that Emma has been starving him as a cat, but there’s only so far tuna and hard pellets can sustain him now that he’s a smidge bigger in size.

Just as Emma’s unlocking the door, Killian scurries back to the bedroom, closing the door and trying to figure out how to approach her now that he’s human again. She’s not likely to remember him, so she will not be happy to see a grown man in her apartment – and a naked one, at that. Killian grabs the blanket he usually sleeps on and wraps it around his waist, closing his eyes and counting to ten as she keeps calling to Cat to come eat his dinner.

Scrubbing his hand over his face and sending up a quick prayer to whatever deity might be listening, Killian eases open the door. The pirate side of his brain takes over as he makes it to the entrance of the kitchen, watching Emma (and _oh god,_ he can make eye contact with her if she just turns around) and waiting for the opportune moment.

“I did promise you tuna tonight, little man,” she says, still too busy fiddling with the trash bag to notice that he’s leaning against the doorway.

“I’d much rather prefer something a little more human, if you don’t mind.”

His voice sounds weird to his own ears, as unused as it is, but Emma spins around when she hears it. He doesn’t anticipate the liquid she slips on. He doesn’t expect her to knock herself out. But he definitely wasn’t ready to feel the love well up in his chest at the sight of her seeing him for the first time in three years.

-x-

In the short time she’s out, she sees the flower field, she hears her name, and she sees the blue eyes that look at her with adoration. She forgets it all as she wakes on her couch, with the strange man settled on the floor by her feet, inspecting the television remote. She figures she has two options here: figure out who this guy is and how he got in her apartment, or scream bloody murder until someone comes barging in.

The second option, while probably totally reasonable, doesn’t seem like a lot of fun with the way her head is pounding, so she takes the first one. “Who the fuck are you?”

“Please don’t upset yourself, Princess Emma. I promise I can explain.” He rushes to sooth her in some way, but it’s not working out so well since there’s a mostly naked, rugged-looking man sitting on her living room floor.

“Oh, I’m Emma, but I’m no princess. Now who the hell are you? Where’s my cat?”

“We’re one in the same, I’m afraid,” the man explains. His left arm, which he’d been hiding before, is visible now and ends at the wrist. Coincidence, right? There’s no way. There’s no logical explanation for her _cat_ to be a _man_ and she wonders if she’s really just passed out, still. Maybe she even died and this is some warped form of the afterlife.

“Listen, we don’t have a lot of time. I’m from where you’re from. You must believe me. You came here one day because of an evil man and a portal. You’ve been living here for three years but the first twenty-five years of your life you lived with your parents, a king and queen, in their castle.”

“You’re deranged. I was an orphan that spent her childhood moving from foster family to group homes. I don’t _have_ a family. I was _abandoned_.”

“Surely you don’t believe that,” he says, a look of alarm on his face. “You come from a land where everyone loves you, Swan.” He’s on the verge of touching her hand, so Emma snatches it back, sitting up and pulling her legs in front of her in hopes of keeping him away. There’s something under his words that makes her wonder what he didn’t say, but he’s a stranger…

Again, his hand goes up in a placating gesture. “I know you, Emma. Probably better than you know yourself. You told me, recently, that you feel like you don’t belong here.”

She considers him for a moment before standing up to pace. “Yeah? Like that’s an original thought or something? Who really feels like they belong where they are?” She’s seen enough movies to know the answer to that one.

“Emma, you said it yourself, that you feel like there’s something in your missing memories that’s hiding the fact that you don’t belong in this land.”

“Maybe in _Storybrooke_ , but what’s this crazy idea of being in this land?” she says, throwing up a set of air quotes around ‘land’ to emphasize. “Forget it, I’m calling the cops.”

“You _are_ the law enforcement, love.” She shoots him a glare, picking up her cell phone as she does and unlocking it. He stands suddenly, reaching for the blanket when it drops from around his waist. “Wait, _wait_ , Emma. You believe in your heart that someone is out there looking for you and they can’t find you because this place lacks the technology required.”

 _There’s no way_ , she thinks, especially thinking about the conversation she just had with her cat about all this, and the fact that he’s said most of her words back to her. She thinks about the comforting gesture that she mistook for Cat wanting more food. Without realizing it, she’s shifting the peridot ring on her finger.

“The ring, Emma. _The ring_. That _is_ your mother’s ring. You told me you lied to Regina about it and worried you just found it in the woods, but it actually _is_. She gave it to you the day before your twenty-fifth birthday to remind you that we would always find you. Please, Swan, you’ve got to admit that you’ve wondered where it came from.”

She has, but there’s no way in hell she’s admitting that to him. Even as she feels her stress levels rising, the simple act of twisting the ring around her finger calms her right back down.

It’s the strangest thing, but she doesn’t feel like he’s lying about any of this, which is just fucking _absurd_. There’s no way for it to be real that her cat, her little black housecat that has spent just as much time cleaning himself as he has sleeping on the windowsill to soak up the sun, is the man that’s standing here now. She locks her phone, needing to sit down, needing to think for a minute. She needs to cover up the naked man standing in her living room is what she _really_ needs to do.

“Okay, hang on, you’re distracting me too much.” Emma tells him, not even considering the fact that she’s going to leave a stranger in her living room while she goes to rummage through her closet for a pair of sweatpants or _anything_ that might cover up the physique she would be checking out a little more if this wasn’t the strangest situation she’s ever lived through - that she remembers, obviously.

She takes the moment to look through her closet shelves, hoping to find Cat hidden away somewhere so she can lock the bedroom door and call Graham and have the crazy guy arrested, but it truly seems as if her cat is gone. With her head spinning even more, Emma grabs a baggy pair of sweats she keeps around for period days and a t-shirt that Graham left in her car once.

“Put these on,” Emma says, barely pausing in the living room to throw them at him as she goes to the kitchen for a tall glass of wine. When the glass is full to the brim and she’s sure he’s clothed, she goes back. “Now tell me who you are. Don’t lie at all, or I’ll be able to tell. If there _is_ such a thing as a superpower, that’s what mine is.”

He’s situated on the edge of her couch, sitting very still with his back completely straight. “Where would you like me to start?”

She pauses to consider the question. “Well, I would like to call you something other than ‘crazy naked guy’ so a name might help out with that.” This is all absurd, but it might as well do some good to find out what name she’ll be filing on the police report later.

He snorts, relaxing a little bit in his posture as he shakes his head. Still, he hesitates, and she can almost see some form of lie forming in his brain until his shoulders droop and he stares at the coffee table in thought. “My name is Killian Jones. I was a lieutenant in your parents’ navy.”

“Was?” She picks up on the subtle cue in his words.

“Aye, there may have been a falling out of sorts. I’ve been on my own for a couple years trying to find you.” There’s something missing, still.

“Why couldn’t my parents find me?” This time, she resists the air quotes around these supposed parents of hers.

“They were trying everything they could, Swan, but they just didn’t have the same resources I did to get over here,” he explains. He’s not lying, but there are gaps in what he’s saying. She can tell. It’s like looking through a piece of Swiss cheese.

While she spends a great deal of time looking at him, she has a hard time meeting his eyes with her own. She wants to keep him at arm’s length, and eye contact, she’s found, is way too intimate for how she wants to view this situation. Luckily, he’s incredibly good-looking, so while she refuses to look at his eyes, there’s quite a bit of good to glance at when she does. The borrowed t-shirt is tight in all the right places, his biceps stretching the sleeves in a way she can appreciate. It’s weird to think that Graham certainly never looked as good in the shirt.

When she’s not subtly checking him out, she’s glancing around to see if she left a window open or unlocked – _anything_ to explain how Cat may have gotten out and how this Killian could’ve gotten in.

The strange thing about it all is that she hasn’t called the station, or texted Regina, or kicked his ass yet. But Storybrooke has always felt so… stagnant. This man sitting here, with his fancy accent and his downright absurd stories about being from a different land, that she’s a _princess_ of all things, is the most excitement she’s had in ages that didn’t involve a drunk throwing up on her. So if she ignores a bit of common sense for an hour or two, so be it.

She realizes she hasn’t responded to him yet when it becomes clear that she’s looking anywhere but at him, and there’s total silence in her living room. He’s staring at her; that much she can tell without even turning her head. He’s looking at her so intensely that she doesn’t want to look in his direction.

“Are you still going to have me hauled to the dungeons?” he asks, and she can’t tell if he’s joking and trying to break the tension or genuinely curious about her intentions at this point.

She turns her head, meeting those eyes of his and she’s stunned to find that he looks _familiar_. But this is not someone she’s met in the last three years. Could he have been someone she met in the time she still doesn’t remember? There are still parts of her life missing from her memories. It’s entirely possible that she’s encountered him before and just doesn’t remember him now.

With a heavy sigh, Emma drops her head into the hand that isn’t occupied by her wine glass.

“No, I’m not gonna call the station, but that doesn’t mean I trust you.”

“Understood. I will endeavor to change your mind on that.”

None of this makes sense. _None of this makes any sense._ And Emma kinda wants to hope she’s dreaming, or maybe Will slipped her a hallucinogenic, or _maybe_ … No, there’s no better explanation than the man behind her needs some kind of mental help. He clearly believes she’s a princess that’s been missing for years, and he somehow believes he’s also her cat. She could kick him out. She has her taser, she has her gun, she has her tenacity – she could force him back out of her apartment, call the station and have night duty pick him up before he can cause anyone any trouble.

And _yet,_ she can’t bring herself to do it. She can’t break the spirit of his claims, and while she can’t believe him, she can start finding a way to help him.

“Listen, this may be the dumbest idea I’ve ever had, but you can stay with me until we get you all sorted out, okay? It’s really cold outside and I don’t want to be responsible for some lost citizen falling victim to frostbite or something.”

He lights up when she speaks, only further grinning as she explains herself.

“ _On the couch_ ,” she stresses.

“Of course, Swan. I’m honored that you’ve even agreed to let me stay.”

She doesn’t know how to respond to that. She doesn’t even know what else to say at this point so she just sips her wine in the awkward silence that follows. Her mouth is just about to open to tell him she’s going to bed, when his stomach rumbles, _loudly_ , even putting the bullfrogs by the docks to shame with its racket.

“ _Jesus_ , have you never eaten before?”

“I can’t help it, love, I’ve been living off a diet of tuna packets and that disgusting crunchy food for almost a month, and I couldn’t make heads or tails out of the rest of the slop you call food. There are no meat pies, no stews. I located the bread but you didn’t even have any cheeses or ale to go with it. I don’t know how you’ve managed to survive this long.” He throws his hand and stump in the air in exasperation, and Emma’s eyes go wide at the nonsense he just spoke.

“Where the hell do you think you are, Middle Earth?”

“Middle where? Oh! And don’t even get me started on the strange thing that claims to be edible from the silver packages. Rest assured that I threw those right away.”

“My _Pop-Tarts?_ You threw away my fucking Pop-Tarts?” The wine has started to kick in, or else she would’ve had her fingers in that pressure point on his neck already, knocking him out and not caring if he froze as she dragged him out of the apartment.

He scoffs, rolling his eyes as he sprawls across his corner of the couch. “No, Swan, your ‘Pop-Tarts’ are fine. I only threw away the one I bit into. Bloody awful taste _that_ left in my mouth.” The last part is muttered under his breath, and Emma snorts.

“Oh god, I’m having an argument with a crazy person about the food I keep in my house.” She covers her eyes with her free hand, trying her best not to laugh hysterically.

“You know, with that attitude, we’ll never get you home to your parents,” Killian says lightly. She has an urge to remind him that he’s speaking gibberish, but holds back.

Pizza. Pizza is _clearly_ the answer to her problems here.

“Fuck it, I’m ordering pizza.”

“Your _language_ , Swan. Your parents would be appalled.” He pauses as she switches her attention from her phone, back to him with her eyebrow raised. “I like it,” he comments, smirking and wiggling his own eyebrows at her.

Whatever. He might be crazy, but he’s pretty damn hot.

While they wait, Killian makes sure to ask her every question about pizza that he can.

“Where does it come from?”

“The pizza shop.”

“Is the pizza shop down in the kitchens?”

“Killian, you’ve seen my kitchen. It’s just like all the other kitchens in these apartments. There’s no pizza coming from that kitchen unless it’s the frozen variety. Which I don’t have. Because I couldn’t go grocery shopping today thanks to the disaster of a day it was.”

“Is the wine helping?”

“It would help a hell of a lot more if you would stop asking me so many questions.” He gives her a pointed look after that statement, keeping his mouth closed but quirking one of those eyebrows. She sips her wine, counting down from ten to see who will win.

Emma makes it to five before Killian asks her about the refrigerator and she’s astonished that the whole complex can’t hear her groan of agitation.

The pizza gets treated like an experiment. While Emma, who already had her dinner but could use a little more grease in her life, digs into her pizza with gusto, Killian stares at the triangular food for way longer than is normal.

“It’s _food_ ,” she emphasizes, talking around the bite in her mouth. “You eat it.”

There’s a running commentary after that, of all Killian’s thoughts while he eats his “first” piece of pizza. She refuses to believe that a guy who looks to be about thirty has never had a piece of pizza before, though.

“So, they heat the bread and the cheese together? That’s brilliant! And what’s the red stuff?”

“It’s tomato sauce.”

“And this stuff on top?”

“Pepperoni.”

“And this is more cheese _in_ the rim of the bread?”

“It’s called the crust,” she mutters out, prying open her laptop and finishing off her glass of wine. Killian is seated on the floor, eating over the coffee table as he flips through the channels in wonder. While the wine has helped to calm her down, she’s at least thinking realistically about what to do next. He can stay on the couch for tonight, but tomorrow, she should probably figure out where he needs to go. Maybe Dr. Hopper will be able to help her out.

As he keeps eating (and she’s continually glad she ordered a large pizza), Emma finds what looks to be a special hospital on the outskirts of town that caters specifically in this type of case.

Tomorrow, she resolves, she’ll call them and find out more information. With a soft click, she closes her computer and sits back to enjoy the childlike wonder of the man sitting cross-legged on her floor, licking his fingers clean before going back for yet another slice. She’ll resolves to wipe down the whole table, and the remote, since he’s only got the one hand to operate both eating and channel surfing. And she might need some more food if she gets really crazy and lets him stay.

-x-

Emma leaves him with strict instructions that he is not to leave her apartment while she’s out. Apparently, she’s gone the way of her visitor and has decided that he can stay with her for a couple days, pending how weird he makes it during this second day. First, she has to make it through her shift at the station.

“You lock the door when I leave, and don’t wander the halls, you hear me?”

“Aye, I hear you. Not that I’d want to go out without proper attire. Or, you know, shoes,” he comments, and it’s only then she glances down at his feet as he wiggles his toes.

“Oh. Good point. Okay, I’ll bring home groceries. There’s still pizza in the fridge. Call me if you need something - I left the number to the station on the pad by the phone.” He looks baffled and confused by that statement, but she’s out the door before he can ask her twenty questions about the telephone.

It’s roughly halfway through her shift at the station that Emma realizes she didn’t lock up any of her (very few) valuables or cash. So, if she gets home and her apartment is cleaned out, then she probably deserves it.

She barely speaks to anyone while at work, too worried about the now-thankfully-clothed crazy guy in her apartment, but luckily most of them are preoccupied with the mountain of paperwork that the day before produced so they don’t notice her silence. Emma also concludes, mid-bite of her sandwich, that this is a person she doesn’t recognize. Sure, there are probably a lot of people out in Storybrooke that she hasn’t met yet, right? But in the last couple years, especially, Emma can’t remember anyone new coming into town that she didn’t already know. Come to think of it, has a newcomer ever come to Storybrooke?

That thought huddles in the back of her mind for the remainder of her shift, and also as she blindly dumps groceries into the basket she picks up at the entrance. When she gets back to the apartment complex, the thought follows her down the hall to the communal laundry room as she pulls out items that might fit Killian.

With the clothes thrown over one arm and the bags slung over the other, Emma has a hard time convincing the key to go into the lock, let alone turning the knob as she spills into the entrance. She drops the clothes inside the doorway, observing that Killian is once again staring at the television in great wonder, before she wanders to the kitchen to put away groceries.

The television cuts off and she hears him stop at the entrance of the kitchen.

“You did the dishes?”

“Aye, figured it was the least I could do. Also cleaned my food and water bowls.”

“But if you’re a human now, you won’t be needing those anymore, right?” Is she really playing along with his silly theory, just because her cat has apparently disappeared and he’s missing the same hand/paw?

“I can only hope, Swan.” There’s sadness lingering under the surface of his words, and Emma wants to ask him what he means, but he cuts off her line of thought as he motions to the bags. “May I help?”

“Sure. Knock yourself out,” she tells him, emptying the bags one by one for him to see the contents. “I bought like, healthy snacks for you, I guess. Some veggies and fruits, because I don’t know what you like best. Also, since you mentioned cheese, I bought a bunch of different kinds?”

The expression on Killian’s face scares the shit out of her in the most unexpected way. She bought him snacks, not caviar and champagne, but he’s looking at her with unadulterated affection. This man she doesn’t know looks a little bit like he loves her. And that is not okay.

Emma clears her throat. “I also got stuff for dinner tonight. I’m not really good at cooking much of anything, but I figured with the pure grease we ate yesterday that maybe something homemade might be better. Just spaghetti and meatballs. Nothing fancy.”

“I look forward to it, love. If you knew what I’ve eaten the last couple years, you would understand how much of a delicacy anything that _hasn’t_ been stewed is to me. Also,” he adds, opening cupboards to figure out where to place everything, “the pizza was delicious even though it was still chilly from the cold box.”

“ _Shit_ , I didn’t teach you how to use the microwave.” She slaps her forehead, and then backtracks through the rest of his words. “And seriously? It’s called a refrigerator. I’ll show you how to use all this later. I also got you some other clothes that might fit better. Just cast-offs from the lost and found downstairs, but probably more comfortable than my sweats. Do you wanna shower while I make dinner?”

“I would love a bath, and not one given by a tongue for once,” he says, making a face as he does. “Unless, of course, it’s not my own.” His expression morphs from the previous disgust to a beguiling one in the blink of an eye.

The flirtatious quip catches her off guard, and she can’t help but laugh. He’s joking, he _has_ to be. “Yeah, keep dreaming, buddy. Go, shower, pick some clothes, and I’ll make pasta.”

She can breathe a little easier once he’s not standing in the kitchen with her, and Emma quickly puts the rest of the groceries away and starts boiling water for the noodles. She’s just pulling out her sauce pot when his voice trails over from the bathroom.

“Do you bring the water in for me, or would you like me to fetch it from somewhere? Show me where the pail is and I’ll acquire it, love.”

Luckily, he can’t hear the responding groan, or see her roll her eyes to the heavens. _This man_ , she thinks, setting the pot down on the stove and stomping down to the bathroom.

“You’re impossible. You know that, right?” She pushes him out of the way, belatedly realizing that he’s shirtless and _almost_ the crazy, naked guy again. “This is how you turn the water on. Twist right for cold, left for hot, and if you want to fill the tub then you pull on this lever here, okay?”

He nods, a little stunned at her outburst of information, and again as she shoves a towel in his arms. Emma turns to head straight back to the kitchen but stops at the doorway to the bathroom.

“How can you not know how to operate the shower but seem to have figured out the toilet just fine? _And_ the sink to wash dishes.”

“Ah, well, you’ve opened the door before flushing in the time I’ve been here. But you never leave it open when you bathe, so I had no idea how this all worked.”

The weirdest part is that it’s totally plausible. She usually opens the door just as she’s flushing, or right before. “Yeah,” she mutters as she looks between Killian and the toilet. “And you jumped at least three feet in the air the first time you heard it flush.”

“Was hoping you’d forget that little detail,” he says, his cheeks turning pink at the reminder. “I think I’ve got it from here, Swan. Unless, that is, you’d like to stay and watch. But I’m guessing your appetites lean more towards that meal you spoke of rather than that of the sinful variety.”

It’s her turn to blush, especially because she’s definitely been zoning out staring at the trail of hair that disappears below the waistband of the borrowed sweats. “That’s, uh, I’ll – I’ll be making dinner,” she proclaims, before exiting the bathroom and shutting the door on her way out.

She has no idea what’s going on with her brain and her libido, but they both need to knock it off immediately, because strange men should not be so tempting. Maybe she _shouldn’t_ have rejected that guy the other night.

By the time Killian emerges from the bathroom, Emma has the table set (something she can’t actually remember doing in her entire time living here) and is just straining the noodles. While she doesn’t turn off the lights or anything, she definitely has the centerpiece candles lit.

“You trying to seduce me, Swan?”

Startled, she looks up to find Killian leaning against the partition that leads into the eating area. His eyebrow is quirked up as he grins, but what she notices first is that the new sweatpants definitely fit better than hers did. And the shirt, this time long-sleeved, looks even better with the material pushed up to his elbows. He’s wearing one of the two pairs of socks she managed to find as well. The whole package would be very attractive – very, _very_ attractive – if she couldn’t see colors. The sweatpants are burnt orange, the shirt is lilac, and the socks are electric blue, with sock monkeys on them.

“I can’t seduce someone who looks like the lost and found threw up on them,” she remarks, returning to the task of plating the food. He snorts from his position in the doorway, holding out his hand to help get the food to the table.

After they’ve eaten, Killian directs Emma out of the kitchen so he can do the dishes, stating again that it’s the least he can do for her when she’s gone to so much effort to feed and clothe him. So, she feels just a little guilty that while he cleans her kitchen, she’s looking up more information on the facility tied to Storybrooke General to see if it’s a good fit for her stranger friend.

His delusions don’t seem dangerous, and he’s done everything he can to avoid making physical contact with her. Hell, she’s noticed that a lot of times, he tries to hide his left arm from her so she can’t see that he’s missing a hand, although she doesn’t know why. Emma is sure, however, that if she says anything to him about going to the facility, that Killian will balk and not go willingly. While he’s been absolutely harmless up to this point, there’s still a darkness – or maybe it’s a pronounced sadness – that lingers in his eyes and makes her wonder what he’d do if she brought this up before just dropping him off at the front doors.

It’s the only place, however, and there’s something oddly sinister about the building on the homepage. Thanks to her researching nature, Emma notices that there’s a comment page on the site, and a couple of them give her a sinking feeling in her stomach. There are notes asking about loved ones, dating from years before, that sit unanswered. Every once in awhile, there’s a response that tells the person leaving the comment to contact their offices to talk about it, but there’s never anything further. Most people wouldn’t even see this page, so she’s glad she decided to click around.

Emma hears the water turn off, and hears the last clink of a dish being placed on the drying rack, before Killian wanders into the living room. She snaps her laptop shut as he walks behind the couch on his way to the open side.

“Care to talk about life as a princess and curses that need to be broken?” He says it jovially, his smile inviting and open, but Emma can’t do this. She can’t indulge in this crazy story and let this keep going.

“Actually, I’m beat. Yesterday took so much out of me, and I worked pretty hard today. You don’t mind if I turn in early, right?”

“Oh, of course. Go get some rest, Swan, and we can talk tomorrow.”

“Goodnight, Killian.” She gets up and heads for her room, but right before she closes the door, she sees his face. Where he’d just been smiling, he’s now furrowing his eyebrows, with panic and agitation dancing in his gaze as he stares at the wall above the television. It’s something she’ll deal with tomorrow.

He’s waiting for her when she gets home from work the next day, his knee bouncing in anticipation as he invites her to sit down.

“Come, Swan, talk to me for a little bit. I have a feeling you don’t believe me and I need to set the record straight.”

“Killian,” she starts, dropping her purse on the table by the door and hanging up her coat as she slips out of her boots.

“Emma, please. There has to be _something_ I can do or say for you to believe me. You _have_ to believe me, please.”

She stares at him; he looks so nervous. Gone is the flirtatious man from the day before, replaced instead by the pleading man on her couch.

With a deep breath, she knows it’s time to say what should’ve been said the first time he even claimed to be a cat. “There’s… There’s no such thing as magic, Killian. Do you realize how crazy this all sounds? There’s no magic, you aren’t my cat, I’m not a princess who’s just lost her memories. You have to give up on that.”

“Why do you know I’m lying?”

“Because you can’t prove that you’re really a cat, Killian. For all I know, you could’ve thrown him out the window after you broke in and just made wild guesses about things I would’ve confided in a household pet.”

“You can’t prove that I’m not,” he says, standing and pacing over to her, still just stopping short of being in her personal space. “And I _can_ prove it,” he says after a lengthy silence. “The moon will set in the morning; find out what time it will disappear below the horizon and wake up before then if you want proof. If I’m wrong, you can take me to that building you were researching last night and I’ll go willingly.” He gestures to the laptop that she left open this morning after she checked her email.

Her computer? _Oh,_ her computer. She left the web pages up and he probably _looked_ –

“Goodnight, Emma,” Killian says quietly, before trudging back over to the couch and settling down to watch television.

With no response in her arsenal, Emma turns and walks to her room with a blank expression on her face. It’s not even that late, but she still goes through the process of getting ready for bed before locking herself away in her room.

She tries to resist the temptation to look up the times, but she’s barely in bed for more than five minutes before she has her phone out, searching the time the moon is due to set in the morning, and then setting her alarm for a half hour before then.

Part of her wants to think that she’ll ignore the alarm when she wakes up. He’s talking nonsense. She’s going to have to drive him over to the Storybrooke General mental health branch tomorrow and drop him off, and that’ll be the end of it. Then he’ll be out of her hair.

Instead, she wakes up before the alarm even goes off. She throws on a sweater to ward off the chill that’s crept in through the walls, or into her bones – she doesn’t know which – before heading to the kitchen to make coffee.

Killian is awake, fidgeting in the corner of the couch as his hand rubs across the place his other one should be. When he sees her, he stops and pulls the sleeve of his shirt back over it.

“I need coffee before whatever it is you’re going to show me,” Emma remarks on her way. Killian grimaces, no jokes in return, no sassy comebacks. That’s when the bloom of unease in her stomach intensifies.

She doesn’t sit when she comes back. She sips from the mug, waiting for Killian to explain or move or do _fucking something_ , but he just stares at the coffee table. With a quick check, Emma sees that the moon is due to set any minute, and that’s when Killian finally shifts, standing quickly as something like panic and maybe a touch of anger goes through his eyes.

“We’ll talk next month,” he tells her. “Next full moon, okay?” His hand is shaking when he reaches up to brush her cheek with the backs of his fingers, and she’s so stunned by the intensity in his gaze that she doesn’t even try to move away from it. Her coffee forgotten, she’s momentarily lost in the sadness in his eyes, those beautiful blues searching her face like he’ll never see her again despite his previous words. A glimmer of a smile tilts his lips up as his eyes soften for a moment, and then he gasps.

As Killian stumbles back away from her, the spell Emma felt she was under breaks and she barely remembers to set down the coffee before spilling it everywhere as she reaches for him.

“Killian? What’s wrong? What’s happening? Should I call an ambulance?”

He doesn’t answer, doesn’t really have a chance when a blast of light and what feels like a small, contained windstorm knocks her back so hard that she falls on her ass between the couch and coffee table. Shaking her head to clear it, Emma look to where Killian was just standing but there’s a pile of clothes on the ground. It twitches and moves, and she scrambles backwards to get away from it.

But all that emerges is a familiar, small face. Cat shuffles his way out of the clothes, hesitantly moving closer to her and stopping right by her outstretched legs. He shifts his eyes up to hers, the same somber eyes she just looked at minutes ago.

No wonder Killian’s eyes always looked so familiar, since they’re Cat’s eyes as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seriously, everyone, please visit clockadile's blog to heap love on her for the AMAAAAZIIIIING artwork she's provided for this fic.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now that they've tackled the first transformation, what will happen during subsequent changes?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some sexual situations at the end of the chapter. Winkity wink.

The first three days after Killian changes back into Cat, Emma can barely even look at him. This was her house pet. This was the animal that she told everything to. And now, well, now he’s also this man? But that’s _impossible_. Magic doesn’t _exist_. And she tells herself this over and over, and yet…

And _yet_ , she saw him transform right in front of her. She watched Killian become Cat, leaving behind a pile of clothes. There was no illusion or trick to it. It just _happened_.

After that little display, she’s unable to even sit by him without feeling a slight sense of panic and a whole lot of awkward. She has no idea how to act around him. Normally, she would talk about all of the feelings jumbled inside of her to Cat to get them out in the open, but now she sits quietly and stiffly on the couch, feeding him when she knows she should be feeding him and otherwise trying to pretend he doesn’t exist.

She could kick him out, but it’s officially negative degrees out there during some of the nights and she just cannot bring herself to do it.

What’s worse is she can’t talk to him about it. She can’t talk to Cat about her feelings and she can’t talk to Killian to find out what she should be doing. The whole thing leaves her an emotional mess, and it’s only by faking illness that she gets out of talking about anything with her coworkers or Regina.

Killian – Cat – whatever she should call him, goes on like nothing has happened, like their whole lives haven’t been rocked. As if impatient with her inability to look at him or touch him, Cat gets fed up one night and headbutts her chin, standing on her lap and bracing his paw in the center of her chest. She looks down at him, her eyes a little panicked, and he seems to understand.

Emma doesn’t know how she knows that, but looking into those same eyes ( _Jesus,_ how did she not figure it out sooner?) she can just _tell_ that he’s trying to calm her down. It’s like he knows what she’s going through without her even saying it out loud.

“I don’t know, Killian,” she grumbles out, looking back down at the point of contact between them. He trills out a question, and she looks back to his eyes. He nods, just a little, and sits back down on her thighs.

 _He’ll wait forever_ , she thinks, and it’s that thought alone that finally makes her move her hand to stroke down his back. He blinks at her, a quiet purr emanating from him at the gesture.

It’s still weird, knowing that this man was just sleeping on her couch a matter of days ago, but they can get through this one day at a time.

As if knowing there are new boundaries, Cat goes back to sleeping on the blanket she had refolded in the corner. He seems to sulk the first few times he goes to it, having gotten accustomed to his spot on the bed and the easy affection she gave him before. But night after night he climbs atop the pillow and curls into a ball, falling asleep before she ever tucks herself in for the night.

At least she knows exactly why he was always turning away when she changed.

The rest of the month crawls by, with Cat being a cat and Emma being a little more reserved than she’s used to being. She hates that she second-guesses every interaction now. Also, there are truly times when Cat doesn’t seem like he’s Killian, which doesn’t help her sanity. Maybe it’s all been some weird dream. Maybe Will really _did_ slip her drugs. As Cat goes skidding across the kitchen floor for the third time in pursuit of a hair tie, she really wonders about her own mind and what she saw and if Killian was real.

Other times, he watches television with her, raptly paying attention to the documentary she turns on about tall ships. He asks her questions in the forms of trills and chatters. He meows to greet her when she comes home from work. He’s much more Killian at times, and much more Cat at others.

She recalls him saying something about next month, and she remembers him being concerned about the phases of the moon, so Emma prepares for what she thinks will be a repeat performance. She researches when the full moon will be and makes sure to wake up each day leading up to it with the mind-frame that it _might_ happen, but not sure exactly when he’ll transform again. It just so happens that she’s off the day it finally does happen, and he’s on her couch in preparation for the change.

Emma already has a pair of sweatpants sitting out for him, along with a pair of boxers and a t-shirt and a pair of socks. Again, none of it matches, but she’s only going to be able to stand him being naked for so long when she’s this keyed up. Just as the magical cloud begins to overtake him again, Emma throws his blanket over him so he’ll be covered when he’s human.

She misses; the blanket ends up over his chest and head, leaving the bottom half of him woefully exposed, and she groans and rolls her eyes, standing up from where she’d been perched on the coffee table and stalking to the kitchen to get a glass of water. How is this her fucking life?

Killian groans from the couch, clearing his throat and coughing up what very well might be a hairball before she hears him shifting around.

“I’m decent, love,” he calls out, giving her the okay to come back in. She takes her time, though, and pours him a glass of water while she’s in there before returning to the living room.

“Okay, so you’re not crazy. _I’m_ not crazy. Explain.” She’s demanding it, even as she hands over the glass of water. He mutters his thanks as he gulps it down, but he’s in no rush to talk, it seems.

“I’ll just pop in the kitchen for some more water and then perhaps we’ll have a chat,” he says offhandedly. He even goes so far as to stand, just about to take a step before Emma stands as well and blocks his path.

“No,” she says firmly, handing him her glass of water instead. “Explain. Now.”

“Very well, then,” he says, handing her the empty one and taking the glass from her hand before he sits back down on the couch. “As you may have figured, I’m only human during the full moon. I get the day before and the day after, and then I transform back when the moon sets.”

“Why?”

“Because those are the conditions of the spell that brought me here.” He’s quiet for a moment, sipping this glass of water slower as he ruminates. “I’m sorry for not saying so sooner. I would’ve told you, but I was honestly hoping it wouldn’t take more than one transformation to convince you of your origins.”

“What else can you tell me?” she questions, and it feels a lot like an interrogation, but he’s not putting up a fight. Instead, he tilts his head to the side and considers her for a moment before answering.

“This profession you’ve chosen certainly suits you, love.” His smile appears briefly before he returns to the matter at hand. “The terms of my condition include that I get you to remember your upbringing, your past life. That you choose to return with me of your own will. When you do, my spell will be broken and I’ll remain human.”

“So, all I have to do is remember a bunch of stuff that I don’t have proof it actually happened?”

“Swan, you have seen me change from cat to man, and back again. Why not try something new, darling? It’s called trust.”

She purses her lips, not really wanting to give into this insanity, but not having much of a choice in the face of his words. “What will happen when your spell thing is broken?”

“Well, assuming you remember where you’re from and the start of your life, then I take you home to Misthaven where you can finally be reunited with your family.”

“And how do I remember?”

He chuckles, but it seems to be mostly driven by nerves instead of humor. Along with the laugh, he also lifts a hand to rub behind his ear, and the whole picture is actually a little endearing. Emma does her best not to smile at the display and kind of nudges him for an answer.

“Well, the only thing that works for breaking curses or spells where we come from is True Love’s Kiss, but that’s not going to work.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” she mutters, and Killian narrows his eyes at her with a small twist of his lips.

“It’s partly because I doubt you’d kiss me at all, but also because you’ve uh,” he coughs suddenly, as if choking on what he was about to say. “That is, you don’t remember…” He trails off again, clearly struggling to say whatever it is.

“I don’t remember what?”

“That you uh, that you loved me.”

She’s not sure she hears him correctly, to be honest. Because he’s mentioned that he knew her parents and yadda yadda yadda, but all of a sudden, he’s throwing out the fact that she was apparently in love with him? _Seriously?_

“Wait, wait. You mean I’m in love with the guy that supposedly deserted my mythical king and queen parents? What kind of warped fairy tale is this?”

“Let’s just forget about that for right now. You’ve already established the unlikelihood of a kiss. I’ve already established the unlikelihood that it’d work. Let’s move on, shall we?”

“I’m not just gonna walk away from that one, buddy.”

“Emma, can we _not_? We can return to it later if you truly wish, but I’m in need of a shower and food and about a barrel more of water. Please?” He looks like he’s about five seconds from dropping to his knees and begging, so Emma relents.

“Fine. Later. Go take a shower. I’ll have food waiting, and more water.”

“Thank you, Swan.” He hauls himself up from the couch, languidly stretching once he’s on his feet, before sauntering off to the bathroom. His actions even look like Cat’s, now that she knows what similarities to look for.

He doesn’t waste any time when he comes back out, settling down at the kitchen table with little preamble. “I have a proposition for you, Swan. We obviously know what _won’t_ work, so why don’t we just spend this time together? You can ask me almost any question you’d like, and share only the information that you want to with me in return.” As he says ‘almost’ he hides his left arm under the table again, hiding where his hand should be. She wonders about how he lost that, and if it was missing when they were supposedly in love, but it’s clearly off limits for the time being.

“I’ve heard worse ideas,” she remarks as she places a peanut butter and jelly sandwich in front of him. It could’ve been fancier, but she didn’t know when this would happen, or even if it would, so she hasn’t been grocery shopping again and she ate all the snacks she brought home for him ages ago.

The question game starts before he’s even finished half the sandwich. Emma decides to take full advantage of it, even trying not to flinch when he explains that his mother passed away when he was very young and his father was lost at sea, resulting in him living in the palace while his older brother continued on through the navy.

“So, we grew up together?”

“We did. You went to your princess lessons every day while I lingered in the war room and practiced sword fighting with the guards.”

She mutters something about princess lessons as she gets up to gather their plates. They continue on through the day, with Killian helping her with laundry and cleaning the kitchen after dinner, and as they set up the couch for the night together, he regales her with history lessons on this Misthaven they’re supposedly from. He doesn’t talk much about who they were as people, just the surface facts.

That’s something she wants to correct, but has a feeling he’s not going to budge on it, just as he flinched every time he thought she was bringing up their personal relationship. Soon enough she’s bound to get him to talk about it, but she’s willing to shelve the discussion for another day.

In the morning, she tells Killian that she’s going grocery shopping and asks if there’s anything specific he wants her to pick up. With her list in hand, she’s happy to escape for a little bit. It’s not that she’s uncomfortable with him, but there’s only so long she can take his eyes watching her every movement as if he expects her to miraculously turn into whoever he wants her to be that gets to be a burden. Emma is honestly a little shocked that he didn’t ask to come with her, but also relieved. She has no idea how she would explain him to anyone they might bump into.

It takes the length of the grocery store visit for her to come up with even more questions. They’re all mundane: how many countries are there in this other world? How big is Misthaven? Do they have any enemies? What’s the military situation like? If he was changed by a spell, what other magical things are out there?

After crossing off the grocery list, she writes down her questions so she doesn’t forget them, and she eagerly returns home to share with Killian and see what his answers are.

It turns out there are no countries, there are kingdoms. And there are many. Some are far away, some are right next door, and there are some he's never tried to visit due to stories he's heard. Misthaven, they decide as they mull over a map, it slightly bigger than the state of Ohio. “That’s absurd,” she tells Killian as they stare at the map.

“Not all the kingdoms are so big. Plus, the villages are spread so far that much of it ends up being forest. Hence, why we call it the Enchanted Forest.”

“Is this place you’re from as big as Earth?”

“I’ve no way to answer that, love. Astronomy isn’t as advanced as it is here. We use the stars to guide our ships, but little is known compared to this mister NASA.”

“It’s just NASA. It’s not a person, it’s an organization.”

“Right, well, I still don’t know. Clearly, our languages are the same. We have regional dialects and accents like you’ve explained you have here. English and Latin are the most common languages in Misthaven, but we all learned Greek in the Royal Navy.”

“You know Greek?”

He smiles, nodding as he clicks around in fascination on Google Earth.

Emma will admit at any time that she originally wanted him to talk so she could find the holes in his stories, and while she knows he’s withheld information from her, he’s yet to outright lie. He’s also taken the opportunity a couple times to pass on a question she asks, citing her readiness for the truth as his reasoning. She doesn’t know what that means, but she lets it go for the moment. Some questions truly seem to haunt him, and she thinks she can understand his need to hide his demons.

“If I might ask, Emma, what happened after you arrived here?”

“I’ve always been here,” Emma says, almost detached from her own voice. It doesn’t feel genuine like the first time she insisted she’d always been here.

“You haven’t, but that’s okay. Tell me what you can remember of your twenty-fifth birthday.”

“Ah! Twenty-five. Apparently, the year that Graham and Regina took me out and I decided that drinking an entire bottle of tequila was a badge of honor that I needed to earn. I don’t remember anything from that night.”

He frowns when she says this, clearly displeased with her answer. “And the day after?”

“I don’t… You know, I don’t actually remember it all too well. There was something about the woods, and I think I was in the hospital for a couple days after I hit my head or something.” It’s Emma’s turn to frown as she reaches into the back of her memories for those moments and comes up with nothing but dredges. She snorts, rubbing her eyes and realizing that it’s much later than she intended to stay up when she glances at the clock. “I’m sure my therapist would have something to say about repressing my memories again.”

“You told me more than that, shortly after you brought me in, about being barefoot and alone in the woods. Emma, look at me, do you remember any of that? What were you wearing?”

He reaches for her hand, and Emma snatches it back haughtily. “I already told you what I remember. That’s enough for tonight. I have work in the morning. Goodnight.” She stands, her chair scraping the floor noisily when she rises.

“Emma – Swan, _wait_. I’m sorry.” He doesn’t try touching her this time. Just holds his hand up in a gesture she’s become all too familiar with. “Thank you for sharing and I’m sorry for upsetting you. Tomorrow, you may ask something you’ve wanted to know that I’ve been reluctant to answer in return. Fair trade?”

She pretends to consider it for a moment before nodding. “Fine. Fair trade. Goodnight, Killian.” She doesn’t fall asleep right away, instead thinking about Killian and everything he’s already shared with her. There’s a quality to his voice that almost makes her calmer, so she’s mad that she was upset by his questions at all.

When she wakes up, she showers quickly before going over the appliances with Killian again. “If anything goes wrong,” she tells him seriously, “you pick up this phone and hit the one key and it’ll speed dial to the station. Got it?”

Killian nods, reassuring her that he would be fine on his own for a couple hours.

After spending the last two days in the bubble of her and Killian, it’s unsettling being at work instead of being at home with him. She has more questions that she’s sure he would answer, and then there’s the freebie he’s given her. She doesn’t know which to choose though. Does she ask about their supposed relationship? Does she ask about what he’s been doing these three years he claims she’s been missing? Does she ask about why he left her parents? Does she ask about her parents? There are _too_ many choices, and she mostly spends her boring office shift narrowing them down.

“Tell me about your brother,” she demands, as soon as she’s walked in the door. There’s clearly a whole hidden story just waiting to be heard, and she doesn’t want to waste any time.

Killian nearly drops the plate he was carrying from the kitchen, looking startled enough that she’s sure if he were Cat that he’d be all puffed out, tail twice its normal size at the sheer audacity of her to surprise him like that.

“Starting right off with our deal then,” he comments as he finishes setting their places. “At least let me get dinner on the table and then I might need a finger or two of rum to get me talking.”

“What is all this?”

“I made orange glazed chicken. I roasted the potatoes that you had in the cupboard, and there are carrots and green beans in the pan with the chicken, as well.”

She’s floored by this, of course, because she would never even _dream_ of trying to make anything that requires a glaze and he’s just learned how to use an electric freaking oven in the last day. “And how did you learn how to make that?”

“It was on the moving picture screen. And then I went to that contraption again and managed to search for the recipe, and here we are!”

“You worked the TV, the internet, and the stove all in one day. And you didn’t burn down my apartment. Huh.” She’s definitely impressed, but still, he has a question to answer. “Okay, we eat, I’ll clean the kitchen after, and _you’ll_ tell me about your brother. Deal?”

He sighs, and it’s a little annoyed and a bit in defeat, so she smiles in triumph as she hangs up all her winter gear and helps him bring out the hot serving dishes.

The food is phenomenal, as it turns out, much better than Emma would’ve been able to make it had she the ambition to make such a dish. But instead of focusing on her meager cooking skills, she thinks instead about what Killian might tell her tonight.

He isn’t the one to bring it up after dinner is through. He helps Emma take the dishes to the kitchen, placing them on the counter for her to wash before helping her store the leftovers. Emma knows he won’t bring it up on his own. It’s up to her to indicate when she wants him to talk. It’s for that reason alone that she waits until the kitchen is clean and Killian looks as relaxed as he ever gets.

She makes sure the TV stays turned off, and only lights one of the smaller lamps instead of turning on the overhead. She does, in fact, give him two fingers worth of rum in a tumbler, placing it on a coaster on the coffee table in front of him when she asks.

“So, you have a brother.”

He still hunches up in tension even though he knew it was coming, rolling his head from side to side, slowly, in an attempt to loosen up. “Liam,” he says, but the single word sounds rusty, like he’s not spoken his brother’s name out loud for a very long time. “He thinks I’m dead.”

Of all the things she was expecting him to say, that definitely didn’t make the list.

“Look, Swan, there’s a lot I still need to tell you, but you’ll probably be in need of wine before I can begin. And I’ll be needing more rum.” As if to prove his point, he knocks back the liquid she just poured and holds out the glass for more.

With a hard look at him, she stands again to fill their drinks, placing both of them on the table  before settling back onto her end of the couch. “Okay, now what haven’t you been telling me?”

“I’m a pirate. Have been since shortly after you went missing. It turned me into a totally different person than the one you once knew, and even the one that’s sitting here now. I hardly recognize my actions for the last three years besides being a necessity in order to find you.” There’s such pain in his voice, she wonders again how much of his time spent as Cat is actually him, and resolves to ask him when she gets a chance.

Both of them pause when they realize Emma’s hand is resting on his arm in comfort. Haltingly, she pulls it back, joining her hands in her lap to keep them occupied. He tilts his head back on the couch for a minute, his eyes closed, and focuses his breathing.

“After you were gone, my brother and I had an argument, and I can’t be sure of his involvement in the fact that I was suspended, but I am sure it didn’t help. He stood there silently while your father placed his judgement, and while I think your mother tried to stop or lessen the punishment, it didn’t work. I think…” He trails off, opening his eyes but keeping them trained on the ceiling for the time being. “Your mother and father were always polar opposites with me. David believes in tough love, and Snow wants everyone to be given their best chances, and somehow it worked for a long time, until it didn’t.”

“My mother’s name is _Snow_?”

“Oh, haven’t I mentioned, love? You’re the daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming. Well, _King_ Charming. Congratulations on _excellent_ parentage.”

Emma opens her mouth, but nothing comes out. Nope. There’s not a word that comes to mind for her to adequately be able to respond to that statement. “We’ll come back to that. Maybe it’ll… I don’t know, shake something loose. Let’s keep going.”

“After my suspension was handed to me, I holed up in my room for a couple days, made the plan to steal Liam’s favorite ship, and decided that the easiest way to get what I needed was to take it. And along the way, I took some jewels, gold, rum, and…” His eyes widen when he stops, and he looks over at her for some reason, but he doesn’t continue.

“What?”

“Nothing. It’s nothing. The point is, I decided that their methods were too slow, and I needed to find you as quickly as possible. Obviously, although it’s incredibly petty of me to say so right now, _I_ was able to get to you faster than they were.”

“I feel like it connects, so I’ll just ask. How did you lose your hand?”

“Ah, I made the wrong enemy along the way. I would’ve been here sooner if not for this little mishap.”

“I’m not gonna ask what a tragedy would be if that’s a ‘little mishap.’”

“Tragedy is the fact that I lied after a run-in with one of the merchant ships from Misthaven and told them to report Killian Jones as being dead, and that the ship was formally being sailed by Captain Hook.”

She absolutely _does not_ mean to laugh. She _really_ doesn’t. But it just sort of… happens?

Killian is telling her this tale about how he told everyone he’s dead, and she’s clapping her hands over her mouth to stop the chortling laugh that’s just erupted from her. She doesn’t blame him for looking horrified by her reaction.

“I’m sorry,” she swallows it all down, taking a healthy sip from her wine to calm down. “When you’re done, because I’m sure this is bound to get worse, I’ll make it all better by explaining who Captain Hook is in this land.” This time when she pats his arm in comfort, it’s on purpose, and she keeps the contact light and brief.

“Right. Noted,” he says, shaking his head while his face morphs back to confusion, and then resignation that he’d have to continue his tale. “Where was I? Oh yes, I told the merchant ship to deliver the message that I was _dead_ ,” and here he gives her a pointed look, but the previous humor has helped to dissipate a bit of the gloom surrounding him. He still looks unhappy, but he doesn’t look like he’s reliving it all like he was before.

“I was incredibly selfish. I made it easier on me, because I stopped getting messages from your mother to come back, to come _home_. She stopped sending me messages on my birthday,” he trails off, takes another breath to center himself. “Liam, your parents, anyone who ever knew or cared about me before now thinks I’m dead. Except for you, and that’s only because you don’t remember who I am.”

“That’s all now, though. Why do I feel like there’s more to this story?”

“Because there’s always more to every story, Swan. Even now, there are things you’re still hiding from me. But you may not even know it. As for me, there are more details that I’m omitting at the moment, but we’ll come around to those eventually. You asked for a tale about my brother, and I’m doing my best to give it to you.”

“Then tell me more. You _have_ to have at least one good story about him, right?”

“I don’t know if I do. Liam was never around much when I was growing up. He left for the navy shortly after me mum died, and returned only briefly to get me settled into the castle. He never came home for anything – just sent letters and messages on my birthdays and for holidays. Meanwhile, the palace staff was raising me, teaching me to be as noble as possible. I worked on chores in the kitchen. I learned my reading and writing almost by your side. But you’d go and get your princess lessons and I would go learn to be a gentleman, taking directives from this staff member, and commands from others. I only got a gruff congratulation when I started my naval career, and otherwise I would go months at a time without hearing from him again.”

Emma focuses on the vocal inflections, noticing how he softens up when he talks about her, and then his words become sharp again when he talks about his upbringing. “None of that could’ve been easy on you,” she comments. He might claim her memories are a lie, that she grew up with parents and love in her life, but all Emma knows is the pain of abandonment and loneliness as she was returned to group homes all her childhood.

“He loves me – _loved_ me, I know that. But he couldn’t see that I needed my brother there during some of those moments. And by the time he _did_ try to be my brother, it was too late, in my mind. I did nothing but take orders my _whole life_ , Swan. You were the only one who never tried to tell me what to do, and if you did, it was only because you were looking out for _our_ best interests.”

Again, she has nothing to say in response, but it brings a blush to her cheeks at his wonderment mixed with affection. “Want it to be my turn? That was a lot to give, so I guess it’s fair to answer one for you in return.”

“I’d like that,” he admits, sipping from his glass for a second while he either collects his thoughts or tries to re-bury his past. “What’s your favorite thing to do outside these walls? I know you work, and you spend a questionable amount of time with your cat, so what do you do for fun?”

“Oh.” Emma hums for a second. “Well, I go out with Regina sometimes, although last time we did that wasn’t really that much fun.” He looks like he’s about to interject, and Emma rushes on to continue since she remembers the last time they went out _very_ vividly. “Graham used to come out with us more, but we’ve all been working so much lately that we haven’t been going out much at all.”

“Graham?”

“Humbert. He’s the sheriff. Nice guy. He and Regina used to have a thing, but then they decided to stop, and I think he’s sleeping with one of the girls that works at the hospital. Regina just started seeing a bartender. It’s like a soap opera around here. It’s the only really exciting thing,” she admits. “Well, it was, until it turned out that my cat is really a mysterious, brooding ex-sailor from another world.”

“Pirate,” he says offhandedly before continuing. “That name actually sounds familiar, but I can’t place it.” He waves it away after a second and gives her a hard look. “Now, Swan, tell me about Captain Hook.”

It takes another glass of wine and rum, and a Google search for him to understand, and he groans and grumbles for at least ten minutes, but still they sit and talk afterwards. The previous tension is all but gone, and the night closes in around them as they talk about all topics they’ve marked as safe. They talk about Emma’s theatrical life, and Killian shares some safe-territory stories from his home. Neither of them even try to veer into the rocky subjects again, choosing to spend the last night of Killian’s human time in a temperate state.

Emma is reluctant to go to bed that night, knowing that when she goes to sleep, there’s a chance that she’ll wake up to a cat instead of a man, and not entirely happy with the idea anymore. She loves Cat, and loves the quiet affection he gives her when she needs it most, but she’s also enjoyed herself these last couple days. She tries not to think too hard about what that might mean, and instead chooses to refill his tumbler with a last splash of rum while she sips the last dredges of her wine.

“How about one more question? It’s clear that we weren’t able to save your memories this time, Swan, but one more question won’t hurt.”

“I mean, it _could_ , if you wanted it to,” she says, and her lopsided grin is equal parts ‘you asked for that one’ and ‘yeah, I _am_ kind of flirting with you.’ He blinks a couple times before turning his attention back to his glass and chuckling as he swirls the contents.

“Oh, Swan, the things you do to a man,” he sighs out. “Fine, one simple question, following the same rules that we’ve already established.”

A hundred questions that she’s apparently not allowed to ask all flood her brain very suddenly, but she pushes them all to the side in order to find one that will leave them both in this contented state. She’s not sure where the question she settles on comes from, only knows that she’s been staring with unfocused eyes on a painting she hung up about two years ago, where a small valley of flowers reaches up towards the sun.

“Where was your happy place?”

“That question’s a bit more complex than either of us are equipped for, love.”

She looks over at him, seeing that same sad smile she’s caught a few times, though this time he’s looking down at the swirling liquid in his glass rather than at her. “Fine, where did you go to get away from life when you were growing up?”

“The meadow,” he answers, not even a heartbeat of hesitation. “It’s this flower field we discovered within the palace boundaries. It certainly doesn’t _look_ like it belongs within the borders of a castle. Small rolling hills, surrounded on three sides by trees that were already taller than we were. And there were wildflowers from one end of this clearing to the other.” He trails off, letting the image of that meadow stretch forever, her eyes no longer trained on the painting but on the man at the other end of her couch.

His eyes are closed as he describes it, and it’s only when she sees the tumbler shift that she realizes that he’s actually fallen asleep, his hand relaxing and losing grip. She snatches it before it can fall and places it back on the coffee table. She encourages him to stretch out with gentle words and helping hands, and then she covers him with the blanket before cleaning up their drinks and turning out the lights.

It’s no surprise that Emma dreams of the meadow of flowers as soon as she falls asleep, but everything is starkly familiar. It’s not the painting on her wall; it’s the exact image that Killian was describing to her. It’s the same meadow that she’s seen in her dreams countless times.

This time, when the voice calls out to her from a distance, she can feel the recognition of it down to the marrow of her bones. She turns to find him there, among the flowers, a smile of amusement belying the admonishing tone he uses to tell her to stop confusing the flowers. And then there are the eyes, those eyes…

 _Killian’s_ eyes…

And Emma wakes with a start. She hops out of bed and heads straight to the couch to tell Killian what she’s just realized, but it’s too late. With a start, she looks outside again and sees the sun is already up, and where she expected Killian, it’s now just Cat.

“Oh, hey. I’m sorry. I meant to wake up before it was time,” she tells him. He nods in understanding, accepting the scratches she bestows upon his chin and behind his ears. “Next time,” she assures him, before wandering off to the kitchen to get their breakfasts ready.

Over the next month, things change a lot for their day-to-day routines. Mostly, it’s because things go back to the way they were. They go back to an easy relationship between cat and human, where they take naps on the couch again, and she resumes petting him. Judging by the way he purrs and flops onto his back, she thinks he approves.

She also starts talking to him again, much like she did when she first brought him inside. She skips the affectionate cooing that she definitely did in at the start, but she tells him about her days at work and now has zero issue admonishing him for climbing the curtains when she’s working at her computer.

After a week, a cold front moves in and her apartment is colder than she ever remembers it being. At the end of the day, Cat climbs onto his bed in the corner, but he still looks cold, so Emma figures there’s only one solution.

“Come on, Cat. You can sleep up here. It’s too cold to sleep over there. But just don’t make it _weird_ , okay?”

He surveys her for a moment more before uncurling and slinking to the bed, and she has to repeat the request and pat the comforter to coerce him up. With a deft leap, he lands on the mattress, slowly wandering up to take his place beside her pillow. She gives him a reassuring pat on the head before burrowing under the blankets, both of them giving a sigh of comfort when they’re settled in.

In the morning, she’s confused for a second when she can’t find him, wondering if he woke up before her, and then _feels_ more than she hears the muted purr. There, beneath the blankets, Cat has wriggled under until he’s even with her hip, toasty warm with the combined body heat and covers.

“What did I say about making it weird?” she asks him, peering down to where the sunlight just barely hits. In response, he purrs louder and gives one slow blink before stretching and extracting himself. He gives a little huff as he makes it to the edge and jumps down, turning an expectant look on Emma before he wanders to the door. “So demanding,” she says, slipping from under the covers to follow him after tying on a warm robe and putting on a pair of slippers.

For all the time she’s had the calendar on her desk, she’s never paid much attention to it. Now, however, she has the date before the full moon marked with a subtle asterisk, and she crosses off each day leading to it with anticipation. At least she knows when to expect Cat’s change this time.

She’s looking forward to seeing him again, Emma realizes. It’s strange to think that two months ago she was utterly freaked out by the idea that her Cat became a man, and now it’s a natural part of her month. Sort of like her period, but much less awful. She spends way too long thinking of the way he uses his hand as an extension of his speech, and the way he smiles at her when pleased with what she’s told him. And she tries not to think about the way her stomach leaps when he gives her that really intense look, like he’s seeing to the very center of her soul, like he knows her darkest fantasies come true, but she fails.

It’s been too long since she’s gone out and been with someone. She still makes regularly scheduled nights out with Regina, but she stops trying to pick anyone up or go home with anyone, because it’s weird when Killian is home waiting for her. He’s a cat, but it’s still strange.

There’s also the distinct way he talks about their upbringing, and about the two of them together. He may have claimed that they were once in love, but it’s clear that there’s something still there. He still has some kind of feelings for her. He wouldn’t trip up so often when she asks questions that revolve around their lives together if he didn’t.

It’s all about testing the waters, she decides, so while he’s still asleep, and still a cat, she heads out to grocery shop for their “weekend” together. Who cares if it’s the middle of the week? Having Killian transform is a little like the Friday through Monday break, and she’s happy to spend the entire time with him this round.

She makes it back just as Killian is emerging from the bathroom in his mismatched clothing, and even with the brightly patterned sleep pants she found last week, he still looks like a calendar model as he ambles over to the couch.

“Good evening, love,” he greets, and her heart beats just a little faster at the thought of her crazy idea, but she’s going to try to sleep with him. That’s the plan, anyway.

-x-

It’s strange to think that just two months ago, Killian was doing his best to convince Emma that he wasn’t a lunatic standing naked in the middle of her apartment. Last month, she was at least prepared for his change and embraced it fairly quickly. This time, she’s not only ready, but she’s making them dinner for the night. Much like the night he made them dinner last time around, she pulls out all the stops, making sure to set the table for the two of them and pour them each a generous glass of wine.

As he’s caught in conversation with her about the last month he’s missed, he skips the shower right away. It can wait, especially when Emma is as enchanting as she is. Her laugh is a little freer than it’s been, and she catches him staring more times than he can keep track of. He just can’t seem to keep his eyes off of her.

As a result of the mood, the wine, and the easy banter, Killian eases back into a persona he’s kept close guarded the last two times he changed. He’s offering more innuendo than he has previously, and his tongue keeps finding its way to the corner of his mouth – a telltale sign of his flirtatious mood. Emma, for her part, keeps touching his arm, her fingers playing with the sleeve of his shirt from time to time in a tantalizing manner.

“We’ll talk all night if you wish, Swan, but I need to shower. I’ll be right back,” he tells her before draining the last of his glass and letting his fingers slide over her shoulder as he passes. He looks back to find her watching him, her tongue slipping out to wet her lips before she smiles at him.

He blasts the water on cold for just a moment, just enough to calm him down and get his blood back to the _appropriate_ places before he turns it back to warm to actually make use of the shower. He moves quickly through making himself presentable, and exiting the bathroom to find Emma waiting for him in the living room.

“Tell me what I was like back there,” Emma says quietly. He’s barely been sitting on her couch for a full minute before she asks. Killian smiles as he runs a hand through his hair, pushing it back as it dries, as he lounges back into the cushions with his arm stretched over the back of the couch.

“You’re headstrong, always, your _highness_ ,” he emphasizes.

“Killian,” she admonishes.

“ _Emma_ ,” he corrects in jest. “You’re headstrong and stubborn, but very free-willed. Your parents never entertained the idea of arranging your marriage, but also because you walked up to them at age ten and demanded that – “ he cuts off, suddenly, and Emma leans towards him.

“That what? What did I tell them?”

“That uh, you were going to marry me.” He pauses for a second, scratching behind his ear with his index finger as he flushes. He waves his own thoughts away after a second, deciding that it’s better to continue on at this point than dwell on the fact that she was _actually_ supposed to. “They promptly told you that you could marry whomever you’d like, to which you stomped back out of the room to find me.”

She slides a little closer to him, not really conscious of the proximity as she reaches her hand out and runs her fingertips along his jaw as she tries to spark her memory. “And did I marry you?”

“Alas, no,” Killian sighs out, his voice lowered and his eyes fluttering at the sensation of her touch. “You couldn’t locate the priest so you decided it could wait for another day.”

She drops her hand, chuckling at her own antics.

“I sound very determined.”

“Aye, you were. You _are_ ,” he insists. “I do so wish you could remember yourself, Emma.”

A sigh, this time from her, full of the exasperation she feels as she throws herself back into the corner of the couch. “Me too.” She stretches her legs, her feet landing in Killian’s lap. Their positioning is dangerous, as her previous touch already has him on edge, but her foot purposely moves against his groin, and he can all but feet his pupils dilate in desire.

His gaze fixes on the coffee table, and he sees she’s brought her wine glass in, and the bottle sits mostly empty next to it. By no means should so much be missing, but Emma gives a little more purpose to her movements, and Killian can no longer focus on the wine or anything in the room besides the temptress doing her best to give him an erection.

Time becomes an abstract concept as Killian suddenly finds Emma in his lap, her hands framing his face as she presses her lips to his. If this was all, if this was exactly what she expected, then he _might_ consider continuing. As it is, Emma begins moving, her hips starting a slow rhythm that sings through his blood as his heart beats double time. With much regret, he pulls her back, especially when a particularly delicious swipe of her tongue gives him a stark reminder of how much wine she’s consumed in the short time he’s been gone.

“No, Swan, I won’t be giving you what you want tonight.”

“And why not?” _There’s_ the haughty princess he knows, in voice alone.

“Because you’re clearly too drunk to be thinking straight, and I’m still too much of a gentleman to take advantage of you.

She doesn’t listen, at first, continuing her gentle nibble of his bottom lip, her hands sliding into his still-damp hair as she feels his cock stirring in his lap.

“It doesn’t feel like you want to stop.”

“I’m only human, love.”

“I can make you feel good, and I bet you can make me feel good in return,” she purrs against his cheek.

He hums low, wanting nothing more than to pull her closer, to kiss his way down her body and taste her, take her, expose her for the first time in years to his hungry eyes. She sighs, though, and all he can smell is the wine on her breath, and with a heavy sigh of his own, he knows it’s time to stop. But one more kiss can’t kill either of them, right?

With his hand anchored in her hair, he pulls her in for one last long, deep kiss. He lets his tongue familiarly tangle with hers, lets her body melt against his, and then he guides her far enough away for him to think clearly again.

“You’re going to bed, Emma. _Alone_ ,” he adds before she can say anything else.

Her eyes ice over immediately, and she scrambles to her feet with frustration and anger clear on her face. “Yes, _alone_ ,” comes the enunciated response. “Enjoy the _couch_ , Killian.”

The door slams just a moment later, and he drops his chin to his chest, wondering how long her ire over this will last. It’s still way too early to sleep, so he quietly moves around the living room, somewhat snooping through the items he finds. The artwork on the walls is befitting of a princess, whether she realizes it or not.

He rifles through the small accumulation of books she’s gathered over the time here, pulling out a few hopefuls and settling onto the couch to peruse each one before sticking with a singular novel. He’s almost halfway through it before he finally turns in, anxiously feeling the time slipping through his fingers and hoping the next day will improve.

Whatever he was hoping for, it’s all for naught. She ignores his quiet greeting, going straight to the kitchen to make coffee, keeping her robe pulled tight around her as if to block out interaction. He waits patiently for her to collect her coffee and come to the living room, but even after she pours herself a mug, she takes that and a package of her beloved Pop Tarts, grabs her computer from the desk, and goes back to the bedroom with another slam of the door.

He takes that as his cue to go about his own business, but he helps himself to the pot of coffee she made before pouring himself a bowl of cereal. He spends the morning and part of the early afternoon reading the rest of the novel he’d picked up the day before, and only twice ponders knocking on the door she’s kept closed the whole time.

There’s a miniature war over his emotions. There are three factions that he can identify. The first insists he was right to do what he did, and thus is stubbornly turning up his chin at her childish behavior. The second misses the woman that he last saw over three years ago as he slipped from her bed to get her breakfast. The last misses _this_ Emma, the one who chews with her mouth open when she’s excited about something and swears worse than any of his sailors ever did. It’s a miracle that he doesn’t go and pick the lock just to alleviate the second and third parts.

Instead, he bides his time, and isn’t the least bit surprised when she exits her room halfway through the day and announces she’s heading out. He only calls out for her to be safe, not even looking up from the second book he started lest she burn him with her gaze.

Still, she slams the door on her way out, and he lets the silence close around him once more, only moving when his stomach growls and he decides lunch is in order.

At dinner time, he reheats the leftovers, leaving the pan in the oven for Emma’s return. But when she doesn’t come home after almost an hour, he resigns himself to pulling out the food and leaving it on the counter to cool while he cleans up the kitchen.

He turns on the television to distract himself, flipping restlessly through the channels of things he doesn’t understand and jokes he doesn’t get, finally landing on the history channel and a documentary of some sort about alien interference. It sounds like absolute bollocks, but it’s entertaining.

The sun goes down and he turns on lamps throughout the apartment, hoping that Emma will return soon.

It’s not until long after he’s turned off those same lights and gone to bed that the door opens, Emma finally having abandoned her technique of making as much noise as she can as she sneaks in. He still marks her progress through the apartment, even with his eyes closed, hearing her breath hitch once before she closes herself in the bathroom.

Maybe, just maybe, the next day will finally be a good one.

It’s not _exactly_ the wake up he hoped for, with Emma slamming every door she passes through until she stomps into the kitchen. Again.

“I’m going to work,” she calls out as the coffee pot starts up.

Off the couch he goes, still trying to wipe the sleep from his eyes as he goes to assess the damage. “I thought you took the day off?”

“Something came up,” she says. She’s lying. She may have the ability to call out others when they’re lying, but she’s terrible at it herself.

“Whatever you need to do, Emma.”

She looks at him then, her face the picture of anger and hurt, and he has no idea how to smooth this over any more than he’s already tried. She wants to be angry with him for pulling away the other night, and he knows that no amount of words will convince her otherwise.

The day passes as slowly as the last one, and Killian almost resigns himself to spending it alone again, a whole wasted transformation under his belt, but Emma is home just after dinner time. He opens his mouth to let her know there’s a plate for her in the oven, but she barely looks at him for a second before heading towards the bathroom. She peels off her shirt before she even gets through the door, leaving him with a lingering glance of her back, only interrupted by the clasp of her shortened corset.

He can’t help but scowl as she slams the door to the lavatory, especially when the water turns on and he has a fairly good idea of what she’s about to do. He stretches out, rolling to face the back of the couch and attempting to burrow under the pillow, but it doesn’t stop the next sound from reaching his ears.

She’s soft at first, just light sighs here and there, just loud enough to be heard over the running water. But as she continues, she gets bolder, and she gets louder. He tries not imagining whatever she’s doing in there, but it’s impossible when she moans out his name, and he sucks in a deep breath just trying to keep calm.

He sits up, patient enough to wait for her to exit, but already straining in the castoff sweatpants. He dips his hand beneath the waistband, giving himself a few slow strokes to ease the arousal a bit. He squeezes the base of his cock when she comes, hoping to hold back his own even as she really plays it up with the acoustics on her side. He pulls his hand out just before she exits the bathroom a few minutes later. Her hair is damp and braided, the plait pulled over her shoulder. Instead of dressing or slipping on her robe, Emma stands there in nothing but her towel, her body flush from the water _and_ the release, he’s sure.

The pose he’s left himself in gives her full view of the tent at his crotch, but he lets the rest of his body relax into the cushions as he lounges back. With her eyes locked on his erection, he reaches down to touch himself again through the fabric of the bottoms. She takes one slow step forward, but Killian moves before she can take another one. He’s up off the couch, crowding her against the doorway to her bedroom wrapping his hand around her braid and his blunted wrist goes to her lower back to pull her closer, to pull her against the obvious signs of what she’s doing to him. She moans at the contact, her eyes fluttering a bit as the lust washes through her. Killian bites his lip, considering what to do with her, and decides he can’t wait another minute – certainly can’t wait another month – to have her taste on his tongue once more.

He guides them towards her bed, easing his fingers from around her hair to find the seam in the towel. Unwrapping it from her body is simple, and he suspects she didn’t have it tucked very carefully to begin with, which means she was still planning on enticing him after her little show in the shower was over. He grins, letting his tongue play in the corner of his mouth as he keeps her gaze, even when the towel drops to the floor.

“Hop up,” he commands, indicating with his chin that he wants her up on the bed. She bristles a little, and he chuckles low that for once _he’s_ not the one looking like an angry cat. “Oh, Swan. Just trust me on this, yeah?”

She still scowls for a second before doing as she’s asked, and that’s when he looks his fill. She’s definitely gained muscle in her time here.

Where once the hair between her legs grew freely, she now has it groomed down to a singular patch, and while it’s utterly different than anything he’s experienced, it’s still entrancing.

“You’ve only got a couple more hours, so unless you want to stand there just staring at me – “ she starts to taunt him again, but he stops her when his hand wraps around her ankle. He pulls a little, spreading her legs apart gently as he glances up the length of her body. Her breasts are still absolutely perfect, and he soaks up the unrepentant expression on her face.

He kneels on the bed, bracing himself up on the elbow of his left arm as he trails his fingers up the inside of her thigh. Her muscles twitch and jump in anticipation, and he makes sure to look up and meet her eyes again as he sinks two fingers into her. Her breathing speeds up and she bites her lip, now suddenly quiet in her pleasure.

“Oh no, Swan. I want to hear what I’m doing to you,” he says as he crooks his fingers up to find the spot that will make her see heaven itself. “You had no problem while you were putting on your little act.” When he succeeds in hitting the right spot, she arches her back, gasping in delight and requesting he do it again.

And he does, but when he does it this time, he adds the pressure of his tongue to her clit so she moans, loud and clear, her voice filling his ears in the sweetest of ways. He approaches this with two types of knowledge: one is what he already knows of what Emma likes, and the other is what he’s learned in their three years apart. He detests that he has knowledge of pleasuring other women that aren’t the one in front of him, but he watched her bring home a man not two weeks after she took him in, so there’s no telling if she’s done the same in the past. He hasn’t worked up the courage to ask.

He loves her, he still bloody loves her after all these years and after these last two months of absolute nonsense with her, and it’s with that thought in mind that makes him double his efforts. He speeds up the thrust of his fingers, he varies the pressure and movements of his tongue and lips, and he listens as her sounds get higher and higher until her thighs clench around his head to hold him in place while her hands grip tightly at his hair.

Had she not done what she did with the shower, he maybe would’ve eased back, pulled away, confessed that he still feels for her as he did three years ago, but she _did_ tease him earlier, so he doesn’t. Where she assumes he’s slowing for the purpose of drawing away, he merely slows until her thighs relax and her legs drop back to the bed. His breath washes over her, and she shivers at the sensation.

“Swan,” he says softly, drawing her eyes down to him. As she looks down her body, he smiles, the hint of what’s to come playing at the corner of his lips. With no further explanation, he closes his mouth over her again, sucking hard on her clit for a moment to jolt her system. She must accept her fate quickly because other than a surprised shout, she holds him in place, her hips canting off the mattress in an attempt to meet him thrust for thrust.

He moans, pressing his erection further into the mattress to relieve some of the pressure he’s feeling, and not the least bit surprised when he feels her clenching around his fingers again so soon when he didn’t give her a chance to come down from the first time.

Emma calls his name, her voice the perfect example of ecstasy as she praises him again and again, riding his face from below while her climax seems to stretch on forever. He’s certainly not complaining, especially when her nails rake against his scalp and he can no longer hold his own pleasure back, lost as he is in finally tasting and feeling her again. He’ll have to find that other pair of lost and found bottoms she brought up for him, now that he’s had his own release in these ones, but it was worth it.

She falls back against the mattress, boneless and sated, her skin once again flush and her braid flung over the pillow beside her. “You were _marvelous_ ,” Emma breathes out, her smile wide and happy as she beckons him up to her level. The words, _those_ words, are the same she used, and he stares at her a second longer trying to puzzle out how to unlock the mysteries and memories that have been stored so deeply inside.

It takes one more insistent look and hand gesture for him to move, and when he’s within range, she pulls him down to kiss him. He gingerly rests between her open thighs, careful not to brush against her sensitive skin or press himself too much against the now-cool patch on the inside of the sweatpants he’s still wearing.

“You?” she asks when she pauses to again catch her breath.

“Already finished, love. I’ll just hop into the shower to clean up and maybe, now that you’re not cross with me anymore, I can hold you for the last few hours I’ll be human for this cycle.”

Her face falls, not in disappointment this time but because they _did_ waste an extraordinary amount of time in disagreement. He doesn’t regret giving in to her tactics, but he is glad that it finally smoothed the way for her to give him that same look she gave him the other night, the one that tells him that she has the desire to learn where she came from.

“Go ahead and clean up,” she says with a gentle nudge to his shoulder. “I’ll be waiting.” When she smiles at him, he can’t help but smile back, nodding and reassuring her that he’ll be back in no time.

He keeps his word, only spending enough time to make sure he’s free of sweat and bodily fluids before grabbing a towel from the linen closet. He scrubs it over his hair to catch what moisture gathered and towels the rest of his body off before walking back to the bedroom.

Emma is already in bed when he walks in, and he can just catch the straps of a camisole from the way she’s sitting with her knees up and her arms wrapped around them. She looks up when he enters, her eyes widening and her mouth falling open the tiniest bit at the sight of him.

“Don’t start with that look, Swan. There’s not enough time and I think I’ve already given you twice as much to think about before the next time,” he says nonchalantly, even though he’s quite a bit pleased with her reaction. He heads straight for the closet and the other stowaway clothes she keeps there for him and slides on a fresh pair of what she’s told him are pajama bottoms before he comes back to the bed.

She scoots over when he approaches, leaving the second half of the bed open to him and pulling back the covers for them both to climb under. This alone is monumental, as it’s the first time he’ll be sleeping in her bed as a human. He can feel the telltale exhaustion creeping up, and he sighs deeply as he settles in.

“Next time, we’ll talk more. I promise,” Emma says quietly as she burrows in facing him.

“Aye, Swan. We will,” he agrees before yawning wide. He places his hand palm up between their pillows and Emma considers it for only a moment before placing hers on top. A few hours later when he wakes up again, it’s her hand holding his paw and he’s sneezing fur from his nose once more. Whatever the cat equivalent of groaning is, he makes that noise before stretching out the now-less familiar bones and heading off to use his cat box.

Three months have already come and gone, and he’s acutely aware that he is halfway through his time limit. Next month, he won’t let a minute of it go to waste.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone is lost in the woods, and Emma has to go help find them. But it's not as simple as that. It's never as simple as that. The truth of the curse starts to unravel, just a thread at a time.

Emma’s all but bouncing in her seat waiting for Killian to change, waiting to see what will happen when she has a chance to talk to him again, but before the clock can even move an hour closer to his changeover, her phone rings. Graham talks quickly when she answers, his words sliding together in his rush to get them out, and Emma is already off her seat and heading to get ready before the call has ended.

Rushing from room to room, she gets dressed in her warmest clothes and slips on her thickest boots. She struggles into her coat as she heads for the kitchen, dumping a handful of food into the bowl even though it’ll be Killian sitting on the couch when she returns. In the meantime, that’s the best she can do.

“I’m sorry Killi – _Cat_ – I have to go. There’s a woman lost in the woods and we only have so much daylight.” He gives her the best understanding look he can, but she can still see the disappointment in his eyes as she goes. She turns back, giving him an affectionate pat on the head and scratches his chin for good measure. When he looks up again, she smiles at him, and then turns to grab her gloves before she rushes out the door.

The drive to the woods is tense, especially with the headache that’s suddenly decided to bloom behind her eyes. As the stress mounts higher, Emma thinks about the man she will be returning home to, and how _very_ much they have to talk about at this point, especially given the way their last time together ended.

She’d tried _so hard_ to hold onto the anger that had been fueling her forward after his rejection. If she’d just taken a second to actually think about his reasons why, she would’ve calmed down sooner, but the outcome was rather fun. Not the stuff between, though. Not walking around angry, going to work when she didn’t really have to, or going to a bar with the purposes of finding someone to take her home.

The second a nameless man’s lips had touched hers, she’d sobered up, realizing that it didn’t feel _right_. It wasn’t _Killian_ , and she only wanted to be kissing him again. There was something about the way he kissed her that made her feel like everything was just the way it should be, or that it would get to that point soon. Instead, she’d tried to find solace in the lips of another and begged off after he started getting handsy.

She’s never had the chance to tell him about her dream with him in the flower field. It’s the strangest thing, but she _knows_ it’s memory, and not imagination. Thinking of that dream now, she can almost feel the sunshine, and the way her hair lifts around her shoulders in the gentle breeze.

The harsh weather outside her car reminds her that she's not in that dream, and that winter in Maine is nothing like the setting in her mind. With that thought repeating, she steps out of her car and pulls her hat a little lower, making sure her gloves are covering her wrists, as well.

The meeting point outside the woods is crawling with officers and volunteers, all with flashlights and orange vests. Ruby stands off the side of Mulan’s squad car, handing over a thermos and giving the other woman a quick kiss on the cheek. They both glance around, making sure no one is looking their way, and the moment Ruby’s eyes find Emma, she blushes almost as red as the dye in the tips of her hair.

Good naturedly, Emma waves and tries to give an inconspicuous wink and thumbs up, before she heads directly to where Graham is meeting with volunteers. As she approaches him, she has to squint against the pain that throbs incessantly behind her eyes, trying to force a neutral expression as she accepts her quadrant to search.

“Dorothy and Merida just left a minute ago. It shouldn’t take you long to catch up to them. I’ll radio ahead and let them know you’re on your way. Belle’s only been out there for a bit so we have a good chance of catching up to her.” Even hearing the name does something funny to her head. Belle? Where does she know her from? She’s… the librarian, right? She can’t think of how many times she’s ever interacted with the woman in question, or if she’s ever been to the library. Left to deal with the needles of pain by her temples, she nods and gives Graham a thumbs up before heading for the woods.

Swiftly but carefully, Emma picks her way through the underbrush where the path falls away. This all feels _familiar_ , but this is the first search party that they’ve ever had to throw together in her time on the force. That she remembers. Right? Has she been here before? With each step, a pit opens in her stomach, growing wider and wider.

Flashes of the time she got lost start coming to her. Something that’s always remained so hazy in the back of her mind is getting clearer the closer she gets to _whatever_ she’s heading towards.

The pain behind her eyes gets so strong that she has to stop, leaning against a tree and pressing her fingers to her temples in an attempt to stem the sensation that her head will throb apart into chunks. Emma realizes that if she doesn’t keep moving, they’ll be sending out a search party for _her_ , too.

Haltingly, she keeps going, experiencing the phantom sensations of bare feet in the cold soil. She remembers her fingers shaking, dirty, muddy, her ring smudged from where her hands had sunk into the ground. Beneath her gloves, her ring feels warmer than ever before. She shakes her head, trying to forget the pain in her knees, the cold material of a nightgown. Does she even own a nightgown? Why would she be in a nightgown?

With three more steps, she breaks into a clearing – one that doesn’t have any specific markings to remind her that it’s where she was found, but she just _knows_. In the middle of that clearing, there’s a woman. She’s sitting, her knees drawn up to her chest, her face buried from the chill against her knees. She’s less battered than she figured someone lost in the woods would be.

“Belle?” She calls out to the woman softly, so as not to startle her too much. This is already a scary experience; there’s no need to make it worse. Right after the name leaves her mouth, her head blares with pain. She clutches at it, and it feels like something wedges into her brain.

“What the _fuck_ is going on?” It sounds like she’s screeching as it bounces around her skull, but the words barely come out as a whisper.

“Emma? What’s wrong?” It’s Dorothy, to her left, but she can’t turn to look at her. Can’t even move her neck for the moment, and she waves the other woman off.

“Check on Belle. I’m fine,” she wheezes.

Merida is already moving to help Belle to her feet, followed soon by Dorothy. Emma braces her hands on her knees for a moment, willing the discomfort to lessen its hold on her. It ebbs away as Merida questions after Belle’s well-being, and Emma is finally able to stand up straight.

The fresh look at Belle, however, is nothing short of weird. It’s definitely not Halloween, so why is the woman wearing a dress that looks straight out of some fairy tale book? She’s never seen anything like it in the shops around town, but the way Belle wears it makes it seem like it’s something she’d wear any day of the week.

Finally catching her wits, Emma signals on the radio that they’ve found Belle. The four women trek through the woods together, and Emma marvels at how far in they’d gotten. Just as they break through the last line of trees, Belle passes out. There’s a flurry of activity after that, getting her into the ambulance. Somehow, Emma’s the one that ends up in the back of the van with her. It works out well, as someone who’s been lost in the woods can be the one to see if Belle has any memory of how she ended up as far out as she did.

She doesn’t get the chance, though. Belle is whisked behind doors and sent for tests and Emma is told that they’ll allow her to question Belle in the morning, if she’d like to return.

With all the chaos, it still takes her way longer to get home than she wanted to be. The bright side of that is Killian in the kitchen, putting what looks to be the finishing touches on another elaborate dinner. His hair still looks damp, and he’s wearing the sweatpants she first gave to him, topped with a black t-shirt that may or may not be her own.

Emma is surprised to see the way he’s lashed the spatula to his left arm, leaving his right hand free to handle the pan and season as necessary.

“Welcome home, Swan. I’m just nearly finished here if you’d – Emma?” He finally looks up to see her, and it must be the mud caked on her jeans, or the look on her face that makes him stop. He quickly flicks off the burner and moves the pan over so the food won’t get burned, slipping the spatula off before he heads for her. “Is everything all right? Did you find the missing girl?”

“Uh, yeah, she’s at the hospital now.”

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.” Her heart lights up with the contact of his hand drawing down her arm from elbow to fingers, where he squeezes them gently. “In fact, why don’t you go take a hot shower, change into those fleece pajamas you’re so fond of, and I’ll keep this warm for you. We can eat when you’re ready.”

It sounds perfect. It sounds like exactly what she needs, and she can’t verbalize how much it means that he’s trying to take care of her without explicitly taking care of her. She thanks him in a way that feels so natural that she leans forward and kisses him without realizing that it might be weird. But it’s anything _but_ weird.

He hums into the kiss, shifting forward as their lips brush against each other. He must’ve been tasting the sauce as he went because she gets hints of cumin and cinnamon. His hand, which had been innocently resting on her hip, glides slowly up her waist to rest just beneath her ribs. She wants it higher. But instead of winding her arms around his neck and saying to hell with the food, she manages to stop herself and pull back.

He gives her another slow smile, his eyes lidded and looking just a tiny bit stuck in the moment. Still, he ushers her off towards the other side of the apartment to shower and change.

It’s only once she’s in the shower that she remembers the headaches while they were out searching, and she wonders how much of anything about this night she should tell Killian. While the hot water hits the top of her head and drips down over her shoulders, Emma examines the way the pain got worse the closer she got to the clearing where she was found. Where Belle was found, where she herself was found… The coincidence is a lot to handle.

Thinking back to her talks with Killian last month, Emma ponders over his original question of what she did after she got here. What _does_ she remember of her twenty-fifth birthday? She concentrates on the stories Graham and Regina have told her about that night, but there’s not even a flash of recognition. Wouldn’t she remember _something_ by now? They warned her the amnesia might be permanent, but she remembers so much of her life from before that day, why can’t she remember the actual day?

By the time she steps out, the water is beginning to cool and she’s anxious to bundle up in her coziest pjs like Killian suggested, eager to see where things will go with him tonight. There’s a buzz of anticipation under her skin, only partly due to the idea of finding out more from him, and from the afternoon she’s had, but also because of the way he kissed her back before she showered.

The shot of warmth blooms in her stomach, shooting through her body as she ties her hair back and checks her appearance one last time. It’s not the sexy outfit she had on last month when he changed, but it’ll do.

“There you are,” he says affectionately when she makes it to the kitchen table. He removes the lid from the pan where it’s been keeping warm on the stove, bringing it over to the table before offering her the serving utensils. “Feel better?”

“Yeah. _Much_ , actually. I’m glad we were able to find her so quick. Too long in that weather and we all would’ve been in danger. I’ll go to the hospital tomorrow to check on the librarian.” A sharp burst of pain springs up behind her eyes, but it’s gone in an instant.

“Emma?”

“I’m fine, really. I think it’s just exhaustion. Do you mind saving the conversation for tomorrow? I just kinda want to stretch out on the couch after this and watch movies or something.”

“Of course, love. It’s been a trying day. Why don’t we eat, and then I’ll fix you a cup of that hot chocolate you taught me about last month, and we can do whatever you’d like for the remainder of the evening.”

“Thanks, Killian. I know we don’t have a lot of time with these shifts…”

He waves her off before she can finish the statement. “Nonsense. Your well-being comes before anything else.”

His smile is bordering on sad after he says it, and she wonders something. If what he’s saying is really true, then how long did he go worried that she might be dead? Three years is a long time to hope for someone to be alive and well. She swallows the lump that forms, pushing all those thoughts away while they eat.

They spend the rest of the night exactly as she requested, but with a twist from the normal. Instead of tucking into opposite ends of the couch, she takes a deep breath before pressing close to him. By the middle of the movie she’s put on, they’ve maneuvered so his arm is around her shoulders. When she starts a second one, they shift so they’re both lounging instead of sitting up. And before the first turning point in the plot, Emma is asleep on his chest, the solid feel of his body beneath hers the last comfort she needed to finally let go.

Killian must somehow carry her to bed, although she would’ve _loved_ to have seen this happen, because she wakes up with the sun already risen, her hand clutching Killian’s between their pillows, and not much space between them. She only gives herself a minute to admire the peacefulness on his face before she drags his hand close to kiss it gently.

“I have to get up and go check on that woman. Sleep as long as you want, okay?”

His response is mumbled, but he untangles his hand and opens one eye long enough to stroke his thumb along her cheek with a soft smile. Then his hand drops back down, his eye closes once more, and he’s asleep again. With a sigh that is much more content than she thought it would be, or maybe even should be, Emma leaves the comfort and warmth of her bed in hopes of finding out how a missing person became missing in the first place.

When she shows up at the hospital, however, Belle is sitting up in bed and smiling. She’s alert, no signs of a concussion, and much less disoriented than she was when Emma found her.

“Good morning, Belle. How are you feeling?”

“Fine, Emma. Thank you for finding me yesterday,” comes the cheery greeting.

Emma’s own time at the hospital is still disjointed; she doesn’t remember much because she was _sedated_ , but Belle looks like she could walk out of here without assistance if she wanted.

“You’re looking great,” Emma comments as she settles into the chair by the bed. “Much better than I expected. You mind if I ask a couple questions?”

“Sure thing!”

Still thrown by the cheery demeanor, Emma pulls out her notepad and pen. “Okay, do you have any recollection of how you got in the woods?”

“No, I’m afraid not. I can barely even remember getting out of there yesterday. I only know how quickly you got me out of there because the nurse told me so. My father said it’s all part of my sleep-walking. Apparently, he left the door unlocked yesterday and I got too far before he realized it so he had to call.”

“Of course, of course. Well, it’s lucky that we found you when we did.” She pauses, absorbing what Belle has said. “You said ‘apparently’ you have sleep issues. Do you not remember?”

“The doctor says I have a mild case of amnesia, but that my memories should return soon. I didn’t hurt myself at all, but he said something about it being brought on by the stress or trauma, something like that. What do you know about me, Emma?”

“I don’t, really. I know that you’re the librarian. I guess we’ve never had the chance to talk before. We can correct that now, if you’d like me to stay a while?”

“I’d like that. They turned that thing on for me, but I don’t understand anything they’re talking about,” Belle says, indicating the television.

“I have a friend who could relate,” she responds, thinking of the evolution of Killian’s interaction with the TV. Emma stays for a little longer, but the whole time she’s there, she can’t help but feel like something is off. There’s every chance that it’s a perfectly plausible story, but her lie detector is going off. The thing is, Belle doesn’t even act like she’s lying. It doesn’t look like she’s trying to cover anything up.

But, if she was sleepwalking like her father claims, why was she dressed like she stepped out of a storybook?

-x-

Killian reaches for Emma, even knowing that she’s not in the bed any longer. She left at least a half hour before, but he couldn’t find the energy to rouse himself from bed sooner. With no clue when she’ll return, he decides to dedicate himself to short tasks. Much like he used to do with his own quarters, despite the fact that he had maids that came and cleaned for him, he prides himself on the tidy environment around him.

Besides, Emma was not wrong all those years ago about him practicing kissing with the maids. If the work was done before they got there, that was more time he could spend with his lips against fair skin, while also querying them for information about the princess. When they would direct his lips to the spot behind their ears, or to the spot between clavicle and shoulder, he thought they were just tired of him talking, not _directing_ him to the princess’s favored spots.

Rather than force on a pair of the ill-fitting bottoms she’s been collecting for him, he slips on a fresh pair of boxers and a t-shirt. It’s the combination that Emma assures him looks like Christmas threw up on him, and while he has no idea what that means, he still smiles as he rakes his fingers through his hair to tame it before he heads to the kitchen to make himself breakfast.

She’s taught him about all the cleaning products, so he helps himself to the wood polish and the floor cleaner, flipping the television on as background noise while he works.

It’s in the middle of some pirate movie that the unthinkable happens. One moment, he’s using the duster to attack his imaginary foe, reliving the glory days of his ship-looting experiences. The next, Regina has burst through the door, her key still in hand, holding a small club aloft as if preparing to swing on him. He’s brandishing the duster in defense until he sees who’s standing in the entryway.

They both stop, wide-eyed and unsure what to do next, until Killian drops the duster and lunges for the remote to pause the movie.

“Where’s Emma?” she asks, tilting her head and looking around, checking the floor of all places to see if her friend is hiding, or whatever she presumes has happened. He stoops to pick up the duster, as if proving that Emma’s not hiding beneath it.

“She’s out.”

“And you are?”

“An old friend, staying for a couple days.”

“Your name?”

“Does it matter?”

“Huh,” she intones, looking at him head to foot and back again. “You’re certainly not the worst she’s ever brought home. Much better than the guy she was trying to canoodle last time we went out. But the first one she’s ever let stay past breakfast. Kudos to you, Mister Clean plus hair. Tell Emma to call me when she gets home. We’re due for a girls’ night out.”

With that, Regina – skeptical look and all – backs out of the apartment and shuts the door on her way. Knowing it won’t stop anything, Killian still walks over and latches the door, heaving a sigh of relief that he made it through the encounter with minimal problems.

Emma returns just around lunch time, which she insists on making when she sees how much he cleaned while she was gone.

“You know, I didn’t realize I would get a house pet and a maid service all in one,” she says as she flips the sandwiches in the pan.

“May I remind you that you’re forced to scoop litter? I assure you, this is the least I can do to make up for it.”

She scoffs, laughing as she slips two perfectly crisp grilled cheese sandwiches onto plates for them. “Anyway, anything good on TV while I was gone?”

“An extraordinary but inaccurate movie about pirates. _Speaking_ of which, Regina sort of broke in when she thought I was attacking you.”

“Sort of? Attacking me?”

“I was, um, playing along with the movie. And she used her key, but still barged in. Told me to have you call her because you’re due for one of your girly nights.”

“Well, I’ll save that for after you change back. I’ve already had to split my time between you and the work insanity.”

“Enjoying the company of a pirate then, love?” He can’t help the grin that spreads over his face, and he tilts his head down and bats his eyelashes at her.

She’s just setting the plates, also with a serving of vegetables for him and onion rings for her, down on the coffee table as she looks at him, and she gives him another soft laugh. With the plates out of her hands, she leans over him on the couch and gives him a short, sweet kiss.

“Yeah, I think I am,” comes her quiet response.

It’s still a surprise, to feel something so bordering on loving come from her, when she still doesn’t remember him. Although they were _much_ more intimate a month ago, silly things like this kind of kiss shouldn’t fluster him, but still he feels the tips of his ears warm, and a soft smile on his face as he looks away.

They don’t go much further than that, though. Instead, after lunch, Emma leans against him and falls asleep in the middle of a program, and Killian turns off the TV in order for them to both nap. Other than the night he spent in her room on her birthday, they didn’t have opportunities to rest like this. It was frowned upon for him and Emma to fall asleep in the same room after a certain point in their childhood. No longer was there a designated naptime for the princess, where he was allowed to also rest since she was loathe to let him get too far between lessons.

It's for this reason that Killian sinks into the sensation in bliss, both falling asleep and waking up with Emma in his arms making him almost entirely at peace.

To his surprise and delight, Emma has more questions for him. They've settled down to a game of cards, one she calls Rummy and which he is horrible at playing. But he does get to see her eyes light up as he shuffles the deck with one hand, which makes up for the fact that she’s beaten him twice already and is about to do it again. She inquires about what he knows about Storybrooke as a fake town in an unfamiliar world.

“Sadly, Swan, my knowledge is quite limited to what I was able to get from the sources I had. But I did glean that the people who come here are from all different periods of time. If that’s correct, then Regina really might be the missing royal that I think she is. But Emma, and I mean this with absolutely no offense, you don’t look the same as the day I last saw you. You look like you’ve aged, just as I have. But Regina was a young woman when she went missing, and she doesn’t look like she’s older than the portrait hanging in the main hall.”

“That’s strange,” she responds, her brows furrowing down. And it’s true. There are subtle differences to her appearance besides the physical side of things. He knows she’s much less dainty, if that’s a word he ever could have used to describe her in the first place. She’s stronger, and leaner, and her face no longer has the last rounded edges of childhood. So how could time stand still and Emma have aged? “You know, Regina said something to me about the clock above the library working when we went to lunch after I got out of the hospital.”

“Maybe your arrival in town had something to do with that. Why do you ask?”

“Well, you claim I came here through a… portal, right?”

“Aye, that’s what I was told.”

“And you didn’t come through one?”

“No, I was brought here via waterway. Through the oceans of our realms.”

The look she gives him, one of confusion, is completely warranted as far as he’s concerned. “Well, okay. But I don’t remember my life. And you do. Does that have something to do with the way we traveled here? Regina claimed I’d been living next to her for years.” She stops for a minute, her face scrunching up as she tries to work something out in her mind. “So, if people are transported here over time, what do you think happens to the people who were already here?”

“I don’t know. Regina seems like she knew exactly who you were, like there was an established relationship.” Like one of those magnificent light bulbs lighting up over his head, Killian turns to study her face. “Emma, who was the lost girl in the woods?”

“Just the librarian. She wasn’t injured or anything.” Her eyes shut in pain for a moment.

“You all right, love?”

“Yeah, just a headache I’ve been fighting the last couple days. Can we talk about this more in the morning?”

“I like that plan. Off to bed with you, Swan.”

She hesitates, collecting all the cards and sliding them back into the box. “You coming with me?”

“Lead the way,” he tells her, pulling himself up from his chair at the same time she does.

They ready themselves for bed at the same time, both of them crammed into the bathroom while they brush their teeth and wash their faces. Several times, their eyes meet in the mirror and he notices she’s looking at him just as often as he’s looking at her. This Emma, this version of her, is so like the one he grew up with, but without the prim and proper edges still in place.

She’s relaxed and happy and carefree when she’s not working. And she fits right in this land, false memories or no.

More than just settling onto opposite sides of the bed this time, Emma smiles almost coyly over her shoulder as she burrows back into his embrace. He pushes the time limit out of his mind once again as he falls asleep to her gentle breathing. The answer to their questions has to be out there, somewhere.

-x-

Emma wakes after Killian is already out of bed, and she can hear the sounds of him puttering around in the kitchen. She has to get up and go back to the hospital to see if Belle remembers anything new. The entire incident is weird, but Belle doesn’t even seem disturbed by the fact that she wandered into the woods in the dead of winter in nothing more than a weird dress. The entire thing is still giving her an unsettled feeling, and she figures if she keeps prodding and asking the right questions, she might just figure out why.

Sure enough, when she finally rolls out of bed and wanders to the kitchen, Killian has breakfast waiting for her, along with a travel mug full of coffee.

“I figured you’d want to get to the hospital as soon as possible this morning,” he says as he turns and sees her standing there.

“I do. Killian, this is… I don’t wanna say _too_ much because you’re right, I clean the litter box every couple days and I might as well have a stock in tuna, but this is all so great. Thank you.”

If she wasn’t looking so closely at his face, she may have missed the quick expression that crosses it, leading her to believe there’s _still_ more he’s keeping from her. This habit of doing the chores and making her food is all repayment or making up for something, but she can’t figure out what. That’s something she can ask him later, though, so instead of prodding, she settles in her spot at the table and waits until he’s seated before she starts eating.

After breakfast, she goes off to change, and makes sure to give Killian a kiss before she goes. He’s in clothes that _almost_ match today, the black jeans she found in the consignment shop are just a little too big, but the v-neck sweater fits perfectly. Unfortunately, he’s wearing socks with little owls on them, the purple background a stark difference from the muted tones from the rest of his clothing. With a mental sigh that she’s yet to buy him any normal socks, she leaves for the hospital.

Belle, it turns out, is getting discharged. In fact, she’s just waiting on her father to get back with her clothes and to sign the discharge papers. She’s sitting up in bed, flipping channels with a serene smile when Emma walks in.

“Good morning again, Emma.”

“Getting out today, huh?”

“Yes, thankfully! I’m ready for my own shower and bed.”

“Anything new come up with your memories? Do you remember how you got in the woods?”

“Not how I got there, but it seems like everything else is back. I think I just needed a good night’s rest in order to get better.”

Emma drops into the visitor’s chair beside the bed, telling Belle that she’ll stick around until her father gets back.

It’s while they’re discussing the latest books they’ve read that a familiar nurse walks in, greeting Emma warmly despite the fact that it’s been more than three years since she’s been here, before turning her attention to Belle.

“Your father just called. He’ll be back in about fifteen minutes. Meanwhile, here’s the personal belongings you had when you were admitted. The dress is a little dirty, but it looks like you managed to stay out of the mud while you were lost. Hopefully we won’t have you in again before the month is up!”

Emma stays quiet, but all her alarm bells start ringing in her head. Like last time? When is the last time they had to get called for a missing person in the woods? In the three years since her own incident in the woods, she can’t remember a single call where they had to find Belle. Speaking of which, how long has she known about Belle?

When the nurse leaves the room again, Emma turns to the woman in the hospital bed. “Hey, Belle? How long have you worked at the library?”

“Emma, that’s a silly question. I’ve been…” Belle trails off, her eyebrows furrowing and her lips turning down as she tries to think of the number. “Well, I’ve worked there for as long as I can remember.”

“When was the last time you got lost in the woods?”

“Just two months ago. I think you’d remember that since you found me last time, too.”

Which is exactly the problem. There’s something going on here, and she needs to get home to Killian and talk to him, and the sooner she does, the better. Catching sight of the dress folded and shoved in a familiar plastic bag, Emma has an idea.

“You’re right,” she covers, shaking her head as if at herself for forgetting. “You’re right, I just forgot. It’s been a crazy couple of months. Hey, do you mind if I take the dress in for uh, evidence? It might be a clue for how you got so far out, and I want to make sure that you weren’t disturbed while you were sleepwalking. Just want to make sure there’s no foul play at work.”

Belle shrugs, a smile lighting up her face again. “That sounds fine to me. Not sure why I was wearing that old, silly costume anyway. Thanks for being so dedicated, Emma.”

“Of course,” Emma says, smiling brightly back to her. They watch TV for the rest of the time Emma stays with her, and she bids both Belle and her father farewell when he shows up.

Maurice thanks her again for finding his daughter, “And for the second time in a row! You’ve got a knack for finding people, Deputy Swan.”

“Just part of my job!” Emma assures him, making sure to tuck the bag with Belle’s dress under her arm on her way out.

Instead of heading to the station, however, Emma heads straight for her apartment.

“Killian?”

“In the bedroom,” he calls back, and she finds him just straightening the comforter on the bed. “Have a nice visit with the woodsy woman?”

“Belle. Her name is Belle.” Killian freezes in place, his hand leaving a fresh dent on the bedspread where he was just smoothing out wrinkles. “So, you know the name?”

“Brown hair, funnier accent than mine, eyes bigger than should be realistic?”

“I’m pretty sure you just described her perfectly.”

“Aye, and I’m afraid she’s the reason I’m here. Not sure why he waited so bloody long to send her. Oh Emma, I wish you’d told me sooner, if only because my time is up this cycle. It was Belle’s information that led me to finding you. She was the first break I found after entirely too long of searching. What that poor woman has probably been through…” He trails off, hanging his head in sorrow for a minute. “If we had more time, I’d ask you to invite her here, see if she knows anything we might be able to use to get your memories back.”

“I didn’t have reason to think she would be worth anything until our talk today. She said she’s been working at the library for as long as she can remember, and I _don’t_ remember her. She also claims that the last time she got lost from sleep walking that I was the one to find her, and I can’t remember a time we had another missing person’s call. And she claimed the last one was two months ago.”

“Which I definitely would’ve remembered.” He stops and thinks for a moment before looking questioningly at her. “Love, you said you had a headache last night. When did that start? In all my time here, you’ve had hangovers, but not headaches that incapacitate you.”

“Oh, it started…” Emma pauses, really thinking about if it happened any time sooner, “right after I got the phone call from Graham that we had to get to the woods. I was fine when I left, but then as soon as I started driving over to the meeting spot, a shooting pain started right behind my eyes. Why?”

“I think it’s connected. How long did they last?”

“It’s the strangest thing,” she tells him, realizing he’s absolutely right, “it got worse the moment I ended up in the clearing where Belle was, and it was the same clearing where I was found. Then, when I got to the hospital yesterday to question her, it kept coming and going as we talked. But today, I just _knew_ her answers were lies.”

“What’ve you got in that bag?” he asks her, and she finally remembers why she brought it.

“Oh! It’s her dress. I wanted to ask if you recognized it.”

Careful not to mess up the bed, Emma extracts the dress from the bag and holds it up, admiring the detail while Killian explains that it’s almost identical to the one she was wearing when he met her. “The woman definitely likes blue,” he comments as he looks at the pale blue with brown edging. “She was definitely wearing just a shade or two darker when I met her, and the piping detail was gold.”

What he just said obviously sparks a thought, and he moves toward her and reaches for the dress. He shifts it this way and that, and when the sun hits the stitching on the bodice, it shines like gold. She swallows, realizing that that’s exactly what it is. Killian mutters something rather colorful about using gold for everything, but Emma doesn’t catch the full thing. Instead, she’s momentarily distracted by the fact that Killian is standing _really_ close.

“I’ll need you to find out if she remembers anything about The End of the World while I’m Cat,” he says absently, his eyes flickering up to meet hers when he’s finished speaking, and he catches her staring at him like a schoolgirl checking out her crush. “What?” he asks, his voice quiet and a smile peeking out of his previously somber expression.

“Nothing,” Emma says, unconvincingly, especially when her hands let go of the dress and she reaches up to touch his jaw again.

The first memories of doing this are hazy from the over consumption of wine, but it’s still just as she remembered. Scratchy, yet soft, and he doesn’t resist when she tugs him down for a kiss. The dress falls to their feet as he, too, lets it go, choosing instead to shuffle forward the last couple inches to fully engulf her in his embrace. So much for the preservation of evidence.

His left arm stays wrapped around her waist, but his right hand can’t seem to settle between resting on her jaw and sliding into her hair.

It’s somewhere in the middle of getting lost in his arms that she realizes they need to stop, that they need to make plans for what Emma will have to do while she doesn’t have him to consult. But there’s more to this kiss than the ones they’ve shared before, and all she wants to do is keep going. He must recognize that they’re running out of time, though, because he pulls back after another good, deep kiss, instead pressing his forehead against hers while they regain their equilibrium.

“We have to um…”

“Make some plans?”

“Yeah, that,” she replies. But it still comes out dreamy and unconvincing.

It’s not until they both pull back and open their eyes that she feels like she can think a little clearer. Only then do they set about making a list of what Emma might be able to do to bring back Belle’s memories. Emma tells him everything she and Belle discussed on her previous two visits, and Killian thinks that there might still be time to pull her back before the fake memories fully take hold in her mind.

“You don’t have much time, so see if you can talk to her as soon as possible.”

She nods, making note of when the easiest time to contact Belle might be. “I want to talk to Regina, too. See if there are any holes in her memories, and see what she has to say about Belle. Maybe if I can get someone else to remember their past, we can figure out how to get my memories back.”

“Excellent idea,” he tells her, his smile wide and excited.

They plan for every eventuality, only going to bed when they’ve exhausted their brains of everything Emma might be able to do on her own for the next month. It’s with a heavy heart that she snuggles back against him, almost dreading the moment in the morning when he’ll change back to Cat. Since he first started changing from Cat to human, this was the first genuinely good cycle with him. The first time was too jarring, the second too unsure, the third spent too angry, but this time around…

She realizes as he drifts to sleep behind her, his arm tightening in his sleep as his face burrows into her hair, that she is going to _miss_ him. She’ll have to wait a full month before she can kiss him again, and she’s not sure that she’s ever been this patient before. She would last a week, tops, between sexual partners before Killian came along.

Her gut dips at that thought. He told her they had been in love. And she’s been with so many people in the last three years. She opens her mouth to ask if he was her first before remembering that he’s already asleep, that he always gets really tired right before it’s time to change back and he likely wouldn’t wake up anyways.

Shifting carefully, Emma turns to look at him and picks out the details of his face that she can make out in the dark. The fading moonlight casts a glow through the curtains, giving her just enough to admire the way he looks so serene. Knowing she can’t help herself, that she’ll have to wait a whole month to be able to do it again, she gives in to the urge to kiss him one more time, sighing as he stirs just enough to hum into the kiss and mumble a sleepy protest when she stops.

“It’s okay,” she tells him. “Next month.”

He nods, his eyes still closed as they’ve been during the whole interaction, and he smiles once before he’s asleep again. It takes a while, but she’s at least happy that she falls asleep in his arms, because Cat wakes her up bright and early with a headbutt to the chin to demand breakfast.

Almost immediately, Emma sets up a lunch date with Regina. She knows she still has to answer for Killian being in her apartment, and her friend has been surprisingly quiet on the whole incident.

“A friend, huh?” They’re barely in the elevator on their way to Granny’s when Regina begins her line of questions.

“Yep, just a good friend that stayed for a couple days. Left early yesterday morning, actually.”

The look that Regina gives her speaks volumes of how much she actually believes Emma’s story. “And why haven’t I heard about this friend before? Why didn’t you tell me you’d have someone staying with you?”

“It was a surprise visit?” Oh god that came out like a question. Regina is going to believe her _less_ if she can’t get her shit together. “He’s uh, he was in one of the same group homes as I was,” she supplies, only minor fumbling as she speaks the lie.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, and – you know – I don’t talk about all that too much, but yeah. He was one of the only people I kind of kept in touch with. I know it’s strange to see someone from out of town, right?”

“It is,” Regina remarks, as if realizing that there _are_ no strangers in Storybrooke.

Just as she and Killian discussed, she has to tread carefully from this point on. “So, when was the last time we had someone from out of town stop in? It feels like it’s been forever.”

“No one wants to come to our sleepy little corner of the world,” Regina says flatly. “It’s been ages.” She waves her hand to dismiss the idea and Emma drops the subject. Remembering what little Killian said about this Dark One, he could have spies everywhere. They make it into the warmth of the diner, sitting down in their usual booth.

She decides to wait, not asking more questions until they’ve already been served and Regina is obsessing over the perfect ratio of dressing to salad. “What was it like when you moved here? Hey, when was that, again?” Carefully, like a bull in a china shop. Emma tries not to _actually_ slap her hand to her forehead with how bad she is at being smooth.

“I think I moved here in…” But Regina can’t seem to answer the question. Her face scrunches in thought, or maybe vexation, before she attempts to finish it again. “I’ve lived here my whole life. You know that.”

“I did, I can’t believe I forgot. Must not be sleeping well,” she mentions with a shrug as she pushes her food around on the plate.

“Speaking of, enough with the precious nostalgia. Tell me what that guy was like in bed,” Regina says, her smile just this side of wicked as she says it.

Emma’s breath backs up in her lungs for two reasons. The first is that she’s suddenly floored with images of Killian’s head between her legs, the way his mouth felt on her, the way he knew _exactly_ what to do to get her off, and the enjoyment he’d gotten out of it in return. The second reason is that before he showed up, this is precisely something Emma would’ve shared with Regina. Of course, the blush that spreads on her face from the first thought is enough of an answer to start with. It confirms Regina’s suspicions that he’s not “just a friend,” but she’ll have to give her more.

All of this just means that Emma notices exactly how out of character she’s been since Killian first showed up. And not even as his human self, but as Cat. Almost as soon as he showed up on the doorstep to the apartment building, she’s been going out less and less. She’ll have to add “act like you used to” on the list of things she’ll have to do for the next month, because it seems like it’s getting harder and harder to be that version of herself anymore.

Emma does her best to give Regina the information that she’s looking for. She skirts around the emotional aspects of her and Killian’s relationship, just saying that they hadn’t done much. They’d only just started to get to a level of intimacy before he had to leave.

“Is he okay with you seeing other people?”

“I mean…” Is he? She has no idea. They’ve yet to actually discuss their current situation, let alone what happens when he’s not human. “We haven’t really talked about it, but we’re not really… together?”

“Good. Then we’re going out next weekend. We are _long_ overdue for a girls’ night. And if Graham tries to schedule you the morning after again, I’ll personally beat him senseless for you.”

She does laugh at that, because this is what they used to do. This is how they used to operate. But then she got Cat/Killian, and Regina has Robin and, oh! “Hey! How are things going with Robin?”

All mentions of Killian stop after that, or of Emma going out and getting laid, or anything for that matter, because the rest of their lunch date consists of Regina swooning over her relationship with her boyfriend. Emma is happy to let her take over, preferring instead to listen instead of divulge any more information about herself.  

Trying to stay proactive on the scheduling and talk to Belle as soon as possible, Emma invites her to dinner the next night, choosing the bar that she and Regina usually start with on their nights out. It’s nearly deserted, with only a few barstools occupied this early on.

Killian would yell at her for the sheer amount of fried food she shovels into her body as she and Belle “catch up.” What he doesn’t know won’t kill him, she decides, squeezing more ketchup onto her plate.

“How have you been feeling?” Emma asks when they’re slowing down with food.

“Um, I’ve been okay. I’ve been good.”

“So, is it good or okay? You know if it’s neither that you can tell me, right?”

Belle contemplates this statement for a moment, carefully sipping from her soda as she does. “Do you remember the last time I got lost?”

The question completely throws her for a loop. Because she doesn’t. But what answer is Belle looking for, exactly? It’s almost as if she’s trying to figure out if there _was_ a last time. “Sure, don’t you?”

“No,” Belle says plainly. “I don’t. And I don’t think you do either, but you answered that way to placate me.”

“Okay, let’s say you’re right and I don’t remember the last time. Why are you wondering?”

They both take a moment to look around to see if anyone is listening, which Emma realizes the second their eyes meet again. She nods, urging Belle to continue, feeling her heart speed up at the same time.

“Do you think my father would lie to me?”

“I don’t know your father too well. I don’t really remember interacting with him much. Not much a deputy and a florist have to talk about, thankfully. Why, do you think he is?”

“I think he might be,” Belle whispers. “I don’t remember getting lost at all two months ago. In fact, I don’t _actually_ remember things that my father claims have happened.”

“What do you remember?”

At this question, Belle starts to fidget with a napkin, going so far as to tear it into tiny pieces as she starts to recollect what she remembers. It’s mostly about the woods, and how she was sad and angry when she was standing there in the woods. That when Emma first came through the trees, she thought she knew her from somewhere else and couldn’t understand why she was dressed so funny. But that directly afterwards, she had a sharp pain in her head and forgot why she would think Emma’s clothes were funny when she was the one in a Halloween costume.

“He did show me my book collection, and sent me back to work at the library,” she says. “And I _do_ know how much I love books, so I know he’s not lying about that. But everything else just, doesn’t seem like it fits. It almost feels as if I’m being fed some storybook life.”

“Belle, I want to ask you some questions. But they’re probably going to sound really strange at first, okay?”

The other woman nods, anxiously sipping from her straw again before settling herself.

“Have you ever traveled?”

“I… I think I did. Once or twice.”

“Your accent isn’t American, so you had to have come here from your homeland.”

“Home…” Belle says, her eyes looking down at the shredded napkin in sadness.

“Do you remember being at the end of the world on any of your trips?” She hopes with the way she phrases it that it won’t be immediately significant to anyone but the woman in front of her. “Have you ever made a sacrifice for your family? Maybe took on a job for someone to help your father?”

Belle’s eyes flutter, and when she opens them again, they begin moving rapidly back and forth, as if she’s reading her own story in front of her eyes and only she can see it. “Oh, oh my. Emma? Emma, what’s going on? What are all these – yes. Oh yes, I remember! Oh my goodness, you’re – “

“Shh, shh. It’s okay. But let’s just… Tell me about your _employer_.”

She has a hard time sitting still, but presses her palms to the aged tabletop and speaks quietly. “He was a strange man, but always relied on evil to get what he wanted from people. Slowly, over time, he started to change. He started to abandon his former tactics and treat people almost _fairly_. I thought… well, it sounds silly now. But I thought he’d started to love me, as I fell in love with him.”

“Can you tell me why he sent you away.”

The tears are welling up in Belle’s eyes as she goes through the memories. “A man came to town one day,” she says, and Emma’s stomach sinks when she realizes it must’ve been Killian. “Started asking me questions.”

“Was he pressing you for information about the guy you worked for?”

“No, actually. He was looking for his brother. Asked if I’d seen him before, but I didn’t recognize the name. Before he could ask me anything else, I was pulled back to the castle by magic and Rum – I mean, Ron,” she corrects herself hastily, “was interrogating me on what the man was asking me about, and when I told him Liam – “

Here Emma interrupts her. “Liam? You’re sure that’s what his name was?”

Belle nods enthusiastically. “Yes! When I told him that Liam was just looking for a brother named Killian, he started yelling at me.” The tears fall in earnest now, and Emma grabs a few napkins from the metal holder on the table. “Before I knew it, he… sent me away. And now here we are.” She laughs, a sardonic little thing as she dabs at her eyes and pouts. “He told me I would be safe and happy here, that I would be reunited with my father who he _promised_ not to hurt after I started working for him. At least he wasn’t lying about him being my real father.”

Emma reaches across and pats her hand in comfort, but quickly tries to redirect when Belle starts asking if she remembers, too. “Let’s just keep this between us, for now, okay?”

Belle nods, seeming to cheer up at Emma’s conspiratorial tone. They finish their dinner, switching to lighter subjects like Belle’s work at the library and the children’s hour she was going to start up soon.

That night, as Emma walks up to her apartment building, she finds herself jealous of Belle. The look of despondency is still on her face when she walks through the front door, and Cat immediately crawls into her lap when she sits down on the couch. If she had to hazard a guess, she would say he’s frowning, but it’s hard to tell without an actual expression.

She tells him all about dinner with Belle, giving him all the details and still fighting to keep the scowl from her face. “I’m just sad that all I had to do was ask Belle a couple questions, and bam! She remembered everything. You’ve told me so much more and there’s nothing coming back. And I _want_ to remember.”

He can’t do much in way of comforting her, so he nuzzles her chin before resting against her and purring. It’s the best she can get until he can hug her again, she knows.

Thoughts about the life she’s missing plague her for the next several days. She still occasionally has the dream about the flower field, where a younger Killian smiles at her with love. His hair is longer, pulled back with a ribbon, and his face is so much younger than the man she greets every month. She can _feel_ in her dream how much she loves him, and it almost physically pains her heart when she wakes up with no further memories.

More than just that, though, there’s everything else Killian has told her about their lives growing up that she wants, more than anything, to remember again. The memories of growing up an orphan definitely shape a lot of who she is in this world, but she wants to remember her parents. She wants to remember their love and influence, the way they hug.

Killian’s told her a little about the magic she knows, and she wants to feel that, too. When her mind starts drifting, she rubs the tips of her fingers together, wondering if there’s a sensation that goes with the magic, and if that’s why they’ve always tingled when she wakes up from the flower dream. She resorts to rubbing her thumb along the band of her ring, instead - the one that Killian claims her mother gave her.

On the same level of importance as remembering her parents, Emma wants to remember Killian. She wants their whole story, and not just told by Killian. There’s still something he’s not telling her, which will help immensely in getting closer to that goal, but it’s more than that. She doesn’t want to remember their relationship through his eyes, but wants to remember the feelings that coincide with his thoughts. And she definitely wants to know why he always says that he’ll return _her_ home, and not _them,_ more than just assuming it’s because of the whole pirate thing.

Cat notices her shift in mood immediately, so he spends less time in the curtains and more time curled up on her lap. He makes sure to give her as many affectionate gestures as he can manage, taking care to paw at her nose one day as they sit on the couch watching television. She realizes, one day while he’s napping near her shoulder on the back of the couch, that it would be even slightly better if he could just stay human. She could deal with never getting her memories back if she could just have _him_ full time.

It’s a boring day at the station when the full reality of that thought finally hits her. But she immediately pushes it out of her head that she might – she _could_ – does she? She does, but she won’t admit it. Not even in her own mind. And it’s as that thought is hitting her that Graham walks up to her desk asking to speak with her in his office.

“Of course,” Emma says as she pushes away from her desk with mild concern. In all her time working with Graham, he’s never had that kind of tone with her. She wracks her brain for anything, realizing as she walks through the doorway that Belle’s dress is still sitting in a bag in her closet.

“Emma, has everything been okay recently? You’ve really pulled back from everyone, and I’m not the only one who’s noticed. Regina says you two were supposed to have a night out last week but that you never texted her. What’s going on?”

She knows she hasn’t been sleeping well, and certainly hasn’t been eating well since Killian changed back to Cat, so it’s almost believable when she sags her shoulders a little more and looks apologetic. “I’m sorry, Graham, I’ve been trying to just push through it, but I think I’ve got that nasty cold that’s been going around. Maybe even the flu.”

“Is that the reason you failed to properly log the evidence from Belle’s little excursion through the woods?”

Shit, so it was about the dress. “What evidence?” _Double shit,_ she shouldn’t have lied!

“Maurice said something about you being in possession of Belle’s dress that she was wearing when you found her.”

“That… That’s impossible. That was given back to her at the hospital the day she was discharged. Her memories still aren’t fully recovered. Maybe she’s just not remembering correctly and already stored it again.”

Somehow, Graham buys it. He buys all of it, and she wants to feel bad about that, as she bundles up to go home and get some rest, but that just means she gets to nap with Cat and figure out what to do next. And if that’s what she’s supposed to do, then that’s what she’s going to do.

In the weeks that follow, Emma gets better about focusing at work and acting like she used to, finally taking her own addition to the list of acting more like her old self to heart. Shortly before the next transformation, Emma comes home to Cat somewhere in the apartment yowling for her to find him. She calls out for him to hang on as she dumps her stuff in the living room, slipping off her boots before wandering toward the sounds.

He’s in her closet, of all places, and she swears she closed the door before she left, but he’s in there anyway. At first she thinks he’s found the dress in the bag from the hospital that they stored away before he turned back to Cat. While the bag is identical, the content is definitely not the dress.

The fabric that comes into view when she finally pushes boxes out of the way and gets down to Cat’s level is not the embroidered blue that she’s used to, but a white cotton. It’s dirty, tattered, and nothing she remembers ever seeing before. But Cat has grabbed the item in his mouth and started dragging it towards her.

“What are you doing? Cat! Stop it!” She finally grabs it from him, and Cat jumps onto her folded knees, headbutting her repeatedly. “Jeez, what the hell has gotten into you?” She shoos him off and stands, working her way back out of the closet and into the light of her bedroom. Carefully, she pulls the item from the bag, letting the plastic fall to the floor as the fabric unfurls.

It’s a nightgown, but nothing that she purchased in the last couple years. It has the same style as the dress Belle showed up in, though, and Cat is still furiously rubbing against her legs and meowing at her, so it must mean something. Her thumbs caress the fabric carefully, following a line of detailed thread at the neckline. They’re swans, she realizes after a second, a line of swans swimming along the edge.

If getting her false memories felt like ice water being dumped over her head, and the ones regarding Belle felt like spikes being driven in, she’s not prepared for the feeling of this memory coming in. It’s like a gentle heat on the back of her mind, radiating down her spine until it reaches her fingers, and then her toes.

The memory that comes around is not from Misthaven or anything, and it’s definitely not anything like what she recalled for Dr. Hopper back in therapy. This is the nightgown that she arrived in Storybrooke wearing. Almost three and a half years ago, she found herself in the woods, but she doesn’t remember getting there. She _does_ remember being scared – scared that someone was going to chase her, scrambling and falling in the same clearing where she found Belle. She had no idea what her name was, where she was, who might be coming after her. She was freezing and her head was bleeding, and then two men who’d heard her cry out in pain entered the clearing and got her to the hospital.

These are _her_ memories.

She tells Cat everything she can remember, and she counts down the days. In preparation of this change, Emma tells him she’ll be working a couple extra hours so he won’t worry, and she spends day after day working way past the end of her shift, until it just so happens that Graham calls her into his office again, a puzzled look on his face.

“Emma, are you aware you’re well into your overtime?”

“Yeah, sorry, I didn’t mean to go so far over. But I wanted to make up for being sick a couple weeks ago. I think I got us all caught up on paperwork and cleaned the holding cells yesterday before I left.”

He looks impressed, nodding with a smile on his face as she relays this information. “Well, you’ve more than made up for it. You’ve always been so good to this station. Why don’t you take a couple days off? I think we can hold down the fort while you take a break.”

“Oh, Graham, you don’t have to.”

“I insist. If you keep up, there’s a good chance for promotion in your future. I think it’s well overdue.”

“Thanks, sheriff. I’ll be back in a couple days ready to jump back in.” She smiles brightly at him. “Oh hey,” she starts before she opens the door to go back to her desk, “how’s it going with what’s-her-name over at the hospital?”

As she figured, he blushes and ducks his head, smiling without really meaning to in that way that people do when they’re falling for someone. A vision of Killian’s smile enters her mind and that happy feeling in her stomach flutters up again. “It’s going quite well, thanks for asking.”

“She’s good for you,” Emma says softly, giving him a genuine smile before she leaves. This all may be some kind of elaborate lie, but her friends are still her friends, and she still cares about their happiness.

She gets home right on time, grinning as she hears the shower running and calling out that she’s home as she closes and locks the door behind her. She’s able to rush in and change into leggings and a tank top, throwing a sweater over her shoulders and pulling back her hair on her way out of the bedroom in the process.

Killian emerges from the bathroom, his hair combed off to the side and his beard trimmed neatly, looking great in that pair of black jeans and a long sleeve shirt, even with the rainbow mustache socks on his feet.

“Welcome home, Swan,” he says as he moves across the room to hug her. As she sinks into his embrace, she relaxes, finally where she wants to be again.

-x-

It’s readily apparently that Emma needs the hug Killian bestows upon her when he exits the bathroom. And he has to admit, it’s a relief to have her in his arms again, especially given everything that’s transpired over the past month. It takes only a moment for him to realize that not only has she relaxed, but she’s just barely shaking.

“It’s all catching up at once, hm?”

She nods against his shoulder, sniffling once and clearly holding herself back from crying.

“I know you’re mad that you’ve only just now regained any of your own memories, but try not to be too hard on yourself, love. The only reason Belle got hers back so quickly is because these false memories like you have didn’t have a chance to take hold. If we could bring back something with an item like your nightgown, then we can possibly unlock more.”

“I have an idea,” he tells her as they settle onto the couch. She has her phone out, making a list of everything they’ve already discussed in one of the note apps. “I want to see if certain sounds or smells, maybe sensations will bring back anymore memories. You touched your nightgown and remembered arriving here, so maybe something like what we’d find in Misthaven would help with those memories.”

He notices the moment her eyes go to a painting on the wall, one with a meadow of wildflowers as far as the horizon. It’s the first time he realizes there’s something she hasn’t told _him_ , because it looks so much like their field that he can almost smell the various blooms as he looks at it. “What do you suggest?” she asks, bringing his attention back to her.

“I’ll make a list of things I want you to do, but since I can’t leave the apartment, you’ll either have to do them on your own or acquire the items and bring them back here.”

Emma shrugs, nodding at the same time. “Okay, we can work with that.”

The next day, she heads out with the list that Killian gave her, and comes home with a couple different bags. Killian takes the one with groceries to the kitchen, immediately getting started on trying to recreate her favorite berry tarts she used to swipe from the kitchens. At the same time, Emma pops a CD into her laptop and starts it up.

She did a good job in selecting something close to the orchestras that used to play at the balls her parents put on. He finds himself getting lost in the sound of the strings, swaying to the music as he finishes preparing the tarts and pops the tray into the oven.

He finds Emma sitting on the couch with her eyes closed. “Keep your eyes shut, Swan,” he tells her as he wrangles with the furniture to push it out of the way.

“You realize I could’ve just helped you, right?”

“Shh, pay attention to the music, not me.”

The last bag she brought in is still sitting on her desk chair, and he smiles as he pulls out _exactly_ what he’d hoped for. The waistcoat is nowhere near as well-made as what the tailors would’ve made for him, but it works. He slips it on right over the t-shirt he’s wearing, carefully doing up the buttons as the first song on the disc ends and the second one starts up.

Emma is still following his orders, keeping her eyes closed as she perches on the edge of the cushion. Now, he grabs her hand from where it’s resting on her knee and draws her up. He positions her hands where they’re supposed to go before correcting his hold on her, and then he gently leads her around the small space he’s cleared.

Her expression morphs into one of surprise, and he can see her struggling with the desire to open her eyes.

“Keep them closed, love. Just feel,” he murmurs, guiding her through an easy waltz as her hand curls over his shoulder, and Emma’s body moves as if she’s been waltzing her whole life. When the song finishes, she automatically curtsies and opens her eyes, and Killian bows low in front of her, kissing her hand as he winks up at her.

Emma laughs, the sound carefree and excited. “That was _awesome_. And this,” she says, indicating the waistcoat, “looks amazing on you. Can’t believe I managed to find a brocade vest.”

“Later, we’ll see if you can still spar like you used to,” he informs her. “You’ve got the muscle memory, even if you don’t remember dancing with me before.”

The way she looks, standing in the middle of her living room, elated at doing something she didn’t think she knew how to, makes Killian come to a very serious revelation. _This_ Emma - the one standing here - and the one he last saw in Misthaven are the same person, but entirely different. And while in the past he was disappointed that she wasn’t the same as he remembered, he’s falling for this version of her. In fact, he’d hazard to say that he’s already in love with Emma Swan, resident of Storybrooke, deputy of the sheriff’s department.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe we're already here. Three more chapters to share with you all before the adventure ends!!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fifth transformation fades, and the sixth one begins. How will Killian handle the fact that this could be the last time he gets to be with Emma as a human?

It turns out deputy Emma can sword fight just as gracefully as Princess Emma could. It’s a little awkward, drawing a duster and a back scrubber as swords, but it works. It works even better when she manages to knock the makeshift weapon out of his hand and take him down, pinning him to the carpet and sitting victorious across his thighs with an expression that can only be described as pure gloating.

They almost get a little carried away after that, when she throws the duster off to the side and braces her hands on either side of his head, her voice low and sexy as she boasts at having him beneath her. His hand is not gentle when he pulls her down the rest of the way, letting her feel exactly what her position of power has done to his body, and she moans before kissing him senseless.

Just when they’re hitting that point of no return, however, she pulls back rather suddenly.

“I better get dinner started,” she blurts out, scrambling from her position atop him and practically sprinting to the kitchen.

Whatever her reasoning, Killian lets her go, staring at the ceiling and measuring his breaths until his body calms back down. He expects her to pull away completely after that, but she’s still just as affectionate as she has been after they’ve settled in to eat. For dessert, they have the tarts he pulled out after a couple more dances, and while she enjoys them immensely, she shakes her head in disappointment when it doesn't elicit a memory.

They shift onto the couch as evening descends, but instead of turning on the TV, Emma hits play on the CD and settles against him with her eyes closed. He decides to keep the vest on the rest of the day, the buttons undone and the fabric hanging loose about his shoulders. Emma’s hand makes it beneath the parted material to rest on his stomach, and while it snows outside their little bubble of contentment, they’re both perfectly warm and comfortable in here.

Right when he thinks he’s going to have to carry Emma to bed again, her phone chimes. With her eyebrows furrowed, she checks the message. “It’s Graham. Says he needs me to stop in tomorrow when I get a chance.” She half shrugs, turning to look at him. She told him when she got home the other day that the sheriff had told her to take a couple days off since she’d worked overtime. So, if it’s not work related, what could he possibly want with her?

Immediately, a pit of unease opens up in his stomach. Something doesn’t sit right with this, and when combined with Graham mentioning the dress to Emma recently, along with her behavior, something seems to be off.

It must not bode well to Emma, either, as for the first time in as long as he’s been sleeping in her bed as man or cat, she tosses and turns like the sea during a storm while she sleeps.

When she returns to the apartment the next day, she’s distraught, and it takes everything in Killian’s power to calm her down enough to get her to talk.

“They had Belle committed,” Emma finally manages to tell him. It’s still before noon but he’s had to ease her down with a measure of rum. “Apparently, she started skipping her therapy, not wanting to talk to Dr. Hopper. She said she was fine without her memories of her little misadventure being restored.”

“And _that’s_ why they committed her?”

“No, it gets worse. Killian, I don’t know what to do. She started taking notes and her father found the notebook in her room. She made a list of all the residents she’s met since we found her, me included, and our possible other identities. Because I told Graham that she must’ve been mistaken about the dress and she insists she doesn’t have it, all of this added up to something being wrong with her so they sent her – “ Here she finally stops and swallows, her eyes brimming up with tears. “They sent her to the place I was researching to send _you_ when you first showed up.”

Her eyes go wide and she hurries from her seat on the couch over to her computer, turning it on and tapping impatiently for it to load up. Killian stays where he is. This is something she’ll fill him in on as soon as she’s figured out how to process it, so he waits, taking a sip from his own glass to settle his nerves.

“The testimonials,” she says when she finally finds what she’s looking for. “There were a couple buried in here that I remember seeing when I looked up this place. They got sent in for evaluation and were never heard of again.”

“What are you saying, that the people in there are people who have their real memories?”

“It would make sense, wouldn’t it? Belle’s barely been here long enough to even get a reputation as someone without a full deck of cards. It hasn’t been a full month since she got her memories back and she’s already been locked away. _Shit_.”

“This proves that we have to be even more careful. We were right to assume that he has spies around town, or some way of monitoring what’s going on in this bloody land.”

“Do you think we can get Belle out of there? It’s my fault she’s in there in the first place.”

“It wouldn’t be wise to try that at the moment. And especially when I can’t be there to aid in this rescue mission.”

“ _Double shit_. We’re already out of time this month.” Her shoulders sag and she shuts her laptop, instead preferring to return to the couch and slump against him. “I’m sorry. This cycle didn’t go as planned.”

“Don’t do that, love. Think of all the things we discovered about your body remembering where you came from. Don’t sell yourself short on this now.”

He thinks that this is a moment when he should tell her they only have one more cycle left, but he can’t bring himself to do it. Not when she gives him a tremulous smile and curls comfortably against him when they go to bed that night. In the morning, when he changes back to Cat, it’s with progress made, but not quite enough.

Next month, he’ll have no choice. As his body slips away and he changes back to Cat, he decides that he’ll come clean as soon as he changes. He’ll tell her they’re out of time, but that he loves her, and he’ll be happy to remain her pet for as long as he lives if that’s what’s to become of him.

-x-

Emma’s barely walked through the station doors the next day at work before she realizes that there’s something wrong. The police force is small by most standards, but it feels like fifty pairs of eyes turn to stare at her when she enters, and they track her progress all the way to her desk. But when she looks around, the entirety of the Storybrooke Sheriff’s Department quickly averts their eyes.

“-don’t _know_ if she’s lying, Regina. I just feel like she _might_ be.”

Graham’s voice comes from around the corner, obviously on his own way in, and everyone’s attention goes to the entryway again. When Graham rounds the corner on his phone, everyone is looking at him, including Emma who is still standing almost entirely still by her desk. He stares at her, not seeming to realize anyone else is looking at him, and he nods almost nervously before telling Regina to hang on. He stays quiet until he’s in his office with the door closed, and the rest of the station turns back to her.

All she can think as she tries to go about her work is she needs to do serious damage control.

She waits a little bit, to seem a little less obvious about the timing, but makes sure to keep as relaxed as she used to be when she came in to work. Despite the weird tension and staring when she showed up for her shift, the bullpen is brimming with the usual gossip and frivolity of a small town with no action. She joins her co-workers in easy banter, and it’s almost as if the moment this morning never even happened.

When she gets the perfect opening, which falls right around lunch time, she wanders into Graham’s office with a lazy knock and an easy smile.

“Hey! Those couple days off were just what I needed after all that work. But you know what I really need now?”

“What’s that?” comes his adorably puzzled reply. He’s smiling, though, which is a good sign.

“To get drunk, birthday style.”

“Those are serious words, Emma. You didn’t seem to handle it so well when Regina got you birthday drunk a couple months ago.”

“Again, it’s because of those damn apple martinis! I won’t mix liquors this time. Come on, we haven’t had a chance to really go out since before my birthday. Friday night, let’s all go out. Bring that nurse, Robin will serve us drinks, and the five of us will reunite like it’s going out of style. How else are we going to survive being law enforcement of the most boring town in the world, where the biggest thing to happen in ages is an unhinged sleepwalker?”

The dismissive tone she uses stings on the inside, but Graham barks out a laugh at her overall assessment of their police force. She just needs to remember who she was before Killian came into her life. She didn’t realize exactly how much she’d changed in the last five months until it all hit her at once.

“Shall we invite Mulan and Ruby, as well? Or will they coerce you into a threesome by the end of the night, do you think?”

“I mean, I can think of worse ways to end a night,” she says with a wink. There. Easy as pie.

With her tracks covered for the time being, Emma heads off to meet Regina at lunch, making sure to engage in the latest rundown of what’s going on in town. More than she was at the office, her almost cynical tone about Belle losing her mind goes a long way into convincing Regina that Emma has nothing to do with the missing dress.

She acts aloof and happy for the rest of the week, making it seem that her last couple months of solitude were really nothing more than a string of endless illnesses, mixed in with some seasonal blues. By the time Friday rolls around, she almost remembers who she was before this whole thing began, and so it’s easy to play along and drink, acting like her former self with minimal effort.

There’s a truth inside of her, however, that recognizes how the loneliness and emptiness that used to consume her every waking moment disappeared the moment Killian came into her life, both as Cat and as a human. Now, even though she’s happier, she feels like there’s a faceless something tracking her every movement when she’s not in the apartment. She feels like one faulty step will expose her secrets.

What sucks the most about their night out is having to chat up a guy at the bar. She’s not out to get laid; she doesn’t even have a desire to kiss anyone that isn’t Killian, doesn’t want to let someone touch her despite the burning need just below her skin.

They were so close to reaching where they were during the third time he transformed, skirting the line of flirty and amorous, but when she was straddling him, feeling him beneath her, feeling what _she_ did to him, all she could think about was the fact that he was turned on by her former self and not the Storybrooke version of herself. And so she’d cut the moment short, running away in the only way she could and heading to the kitchen to make dinner.

But even still she couldn’t stop herself from touching him, from snuggling into his arms later that night and when they went to bed. She wants to be with Killian, but she wants him to be with her because she’s who she is, not who he wants her to be.

In a dark corner of the back hallway, she lets Mr. Whiskey Sour kiss her, lets him touch her body above her clothes, lets him grab her ass and kiss his way down her neck. It doesn’t _feel_ like Killian though, so when she hums in satisfaction, she has to work at it, because she’s practically drier than a desert at this point.

Killian would understand. She’s almost a hundred percent sure that if it came down to blowing this guy or blowing her cover, he would be perfectly understanding of the situation. But she doesn’t want to fuck this guy. She definitely doesn’t want to go home with him, so she manages to make it long enough to be believable before she tells him she has to go home, that she has to work the next day or else she’d give him a night he’d never forget. She takes his phone number, instead, relieved to find that all of her friends have gone home with their own significant others so no one notices she leaves alone.

Even though she’s pretty sure he’d be okay with it, Emma still shuts herself in the bathroom the minute she gets home, not coming out until she’s showered and scrubbed her face clean. She brushes her teeth and uses as much mouthwash as is humanly acceptable, and only then does she wander into the living room where Cat is waiting for her.

She just barely manages to not cry when she sees him, especially after she sits down on the couch and he immediately comes over and headbutts her chin in that way she knows means he wishes he could hug her right now.

_God_ , what she wouldn’t give to have him human right now, to have him here to take care of her. And not just in a sexual way, but in the way that she wants someone to take care of her sometimes. Just as she thinks this, Cat jumps off the couch and onto the coffee table. The remote is sitting there, unassuming, minding its own business. While Emma watches, Cat pushes it from the coffee table to the floor. He looks up at her after staring at it for a minute, his look challenging her to do something about it.

Emma shakes her head, blowing out her cheeks as she considers him. “We really need to talk about your cat behavior.”

One night, just before Killian is due to transform, she finds her birthday candles in one of the kitchen drawers. She has a cupcake that Ruby gave her at lunch today, so she sticks all three candles in and lights them, thinking her wish so hard she’s sure it’ll be burned into her brain forever by the time she blows all three flames out.

Cat is still asleep on the couch when she returns. The candles are all stashed away again, and the cupcake stored in the fridge for when her appetite returns. She just hoped that if she wished hard enough for him to stay human that it might work like all her birthday wishes to not be alone anymore did.

In total, by the time the next full moon comes around, Emma has been out with her friends on four different occasions. On all four nights, she found people to make out with. One guy almost took it too far, until Emma faked getting sick from the shots and darted to the bathroom without a moment to spare. That particular incident happened to fall the day before Killian’s transformation, so it works out well when Graham drops her off at home that night and tells her to take the next day off.

“This is what happens when you say you want to get birthday drunk, Emma,” he jokingly reminds her.

She groans, turning her head slowly to look at him. “This is the point in time when I should start saying I never want to drink with you guys ever again.”

“You’d never!”

“I might,” Emma taunts, but doesn’t really mean it. “Hey, thanks again for the ride home. And the day off tomorrow. I’ll do extra paperwork when I come back to make up for it.”

He waves her off good-naturedly, bidding her goodnight as she slides out of the car.

As soon as she shuts and locks the door behind herself, she instantly feels better. Like the previous times she’s come home from the bar, she goes straight to the bathroom. Cat is in the hallway, peering up at her in question, but she scrunches her face in a look of disgust and shakes her head. He’ll get it, she knows he will. And tomorrow she’ll be able to apologize properly.

Maybe it’s gotten more difficult because Emma _wants_ to remember, and she _wants_ to spend more time with Killian than the measly three days she’s gotten, and she _wishes_ … It’s when she crawls into bed that the dam finally breaks and the last couple weeks come out in a round of angry, frustrated tears. Cat does his best, he really does, but the best he can do is huddle behind her back where she’s turned away from him and try to purr the comfort into her.

As she tries to drift off to sleep, Emma’s once again brought back to the fact that Belle is in that facility because of her lies, and because she didn’t try harder to protect the other woman. How long will she have to be stuck there if they can’t find a way to get her out? How many others are trapped because of their own memories coming back? And how long have they been detained?

When Emma wakes up, she immediately wants to go back to bed. Cat nudges her awake, though, pawing gently at her nose until she pries her eyes open and looks at him. He crouches down in front of her, calmly nudging her with his nose and licking her chin until she finally cracks the tiniest smile she can manage.

“I know, you’ll be here soon.”

-x-

Killian watches as Emma nods off a half hour before he’s due to change. After he finally got her out of bed in the morning, she puttered around the apartment to put together dinner for when he was back, and she laid out clothes for him to dress in after his shower. He cannot begrudge her the rest, however, so he lets her sleep as he waits for the first cresting of the moon over the horizon.

Even once he’s human, he lets her rest. There’s something about the way she’s been going out again that has made her just one step past melancholy, and he could take a couple guesses as to why. Thinking back on his past, he loses count of the women he entertained in Emma’s absence and understands that she did the same. He’s also fairly sure that if their roles were reversed, she would feel as he did about it all. He’s also fairly sure that if their roles were reversed, she would feel as he does about it all, and hopes that she won’t take issue with his other partners.

Once he’s showered and changed, Killian heads back to the darkened bedroom where Emma is still napping. He carefully climbs onto the bed, trying not to jostle her too much in the process of settling in behind her. She still stirs, turning in his arms and forcing a smile for him.

He wants to kiss her. He wants to kiss her until she’s fully awake, until she’s soothed from her earlier anguish, until she can tell without him saying the words how he feels about her.

She beats him to it by kissing him first. But while he only had designs on having his mouth pressed to hers, Emma clearly has other ideas. The pressure of her kisses gets stronger, her hands get a little bolder, and when her fingers tighten in the hair on the back of his head, he’s a goner. The second he groans into the kiss, she is, too.

When she pushes him onto his back, Killian is unable, and honestly unwilling, to try and stop her. The intentions are clear in her eyes, no longer masked in sleep and unease, and he immediately follows her command when she tells him to take off his shirt. It takes only a moment, but when the cotton has been pulled from his body, he looks up to find her quite lower from where she was, also missing her own sweatshirt.

Her bra is one of the sports variety, the plain black fabric modestly hiding her breasts from his view but still looking more tantalizing than most of the undergarments Emma owned in Misthaven. He swallows hard, realizing that he should be concentrating a little harder on what she’s doing than what she’s wearing. Her fingers are already pulling down the waist of his flannel bottoms, her mouth hot against his hipbone.

“This is all I’ve wanted for the last month,” she admits, looking up at him as she uses both hands to pull the obstructing fabric down.

Before he can voice his thoughts that they take it slow, her mouth closes around his cock and he arches off the bed. It’s been three and a half long years since Emma’s done this, and Killian can’t seem to catch his breath. This all happened so quick, and he’s gone from aroused to damn near coming in a matter of seconds. Her tongue swirls around the head, one hand wrapped around the length that’s not in her mouth, the other hand sliding up his thigh to run her fingers along the crease between hip and thigh.

“Bloody hell, Emma,” he gasps out, this time when she hums around him, and he has to reach out and stop her. “Emma, Emma my love, you can’t – I can’t…” She sits up quickly, her eyes wide.

“What?”

“What’s wrong?”

“What did you call me?”

He scrambles back through his words, picking up two facts at once: first, that it’s _exactly_ what he said to Emma the first time she ever did this, and second, that he means it.

“Killian, I can’t be the stand in for the woman you knew three and a half years ago.” She moves away as she says it, and Killian grabs her wrist. He sits up, keeping a light hold on her so she can’t go anywhere.

“I’m not… do you think I still _only_ view you as the lost princess?”

“Well, don’t you?”

He chuckles as he shakes his head. “No, Swan. Not for quite some time. There’s plenty of your former self in your current demeanor, including that little _humming_ noise,” he raises his eyebrows as he points that out, “but I care for you because you’re _you_.” With his grip, he pulls her forward again, finding her lips with his for a soft kiss. “And that includes _this_ version of you,” he whispers, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her into his lap. “Now, why don’t we make dinner, and then we can do whatever you’d like to do for the rest of the evening.”

Instead of moving off his thighs like he expects her to do, she moves closer. Her own sleep pants, still in place, brush against his cock, stirring it once more. “What if this is what I want to do first?”

“I’m really in no position to object,” he points out.

She chuckles, even as she leans in again to kiss him. Her head tilts to kiss him deeper, and he uses his hand and wrist to move her hips in small circles. As she picks up the pace on her own, his hand wanders up her back, his fingertips dancing along her spine until they can slip under the fabric of her bra. He does nothing more than stroke the skin he can reach, but Emma arches against him and breaks away with a tantalizing noise. She extracts her own hands from his hair in order to pull the bra over her head.

There’s no further invitation needed for him to explore the delicate skin freshly exposed to him. He dips his head to pull a nipple into his mouth, running his fingers over the other in tandem and enjoying the way her head falls back in pleasure. The small circles she was making previously become something a little more drawn out, a move that runs the length of him along the seam of her pants.

“Remove these, darling,” he murmurs in the valley between her breasts as he plucks at the waistband. Yet, he still protests when she has to climb off his lap to do so. He _does_ tilt his head in confusion when Emma doesn’t immediately come back to the bed. Instead, she pulls a small box of some kind out of her bedside drawer. She removes a small packet and places the box back on the night stand before she rips open the packet. Inside is a small circle, and his brows furrow.

“What is that?”

She looks surprised for a moment before remembering that he’s not exactly from this land, and she smiles reassuringly. “It’s a condom. It reduces the chances that I’ll get pregnant.”

Sex without the immediate threat of pregnancy is a fascinating thing. It was pure luck and timing that they didn’t encounter that from the first time, and Killian never stayed in the other women he was with – not for long, anyways. Now, the prospect of getting to be intimate with Emma, and being able to finish while inside her, ignites a whole new fire in his blood.

The prospect and the actuality are two different things, of course; the condom feels weird around his cock and it’s a little like wearing a glove on his right hand. Everything is muted, but it’s almost a blessing when Emma strokes her hand down his length. He doesn’t feel so much like his orgasm is imminent. With something near relief, he releases a deep breath. This time, when Emma swings one of her legs over his, Killian feels like he can control himself.

He’s anticipating that she’ll jump straight on, so to speak. But she doesn’t. Instead, she settles on his thighs just a few inches away from where he’s straining and hard for her, biting her lip as she looks down between them. She leans over towards the drawer again, pulling out a bottle that she explains is lubricant with a quick smile. A few drops are poured into her palm before she resumes her strokes, this time gliding easily. At the same time, Emma squeezes some of the liquid onto his fingers before guiding Killian’s hand between her legs. She throws the bottle off to the side before pressing his fingers against her clit and moving both her hands to the same rhythm until he nods.

With their paces the same, she removes her hand from his and braces herself on his shoulder. It’s Killian’s turn to bite his lip, especially when Emma draws that hand up his neck, thumbing behind his ear before she clenches her fingers in his hair again. Killian grunts, thrusting up into Emma’s grip. She smiles, licking her lips and leaning forward to kiss him. Her lips move wetly against his own, and it instantly draws up the memory of her mouth around his cock. He thrusts again, this time with a chant of her name against her lips.

Up on her knees she goes, and down onto his cock she slides, no warning, just movements, and Killian leans back against the mountain of pillows at the head of her bed, his hand flinging out to clutch at one of them, and Emma just presses closer. Her breasts rub against his chest with every movement and she kisses him within an inch of his life. All of the sensations are far more than he expected. They begin to move in tandem, his body unable to stop from thrusting up as she pushes down.

He wraps his left arm around her back, forcing her to arch against him until she gasps just the right way.

“Fuck, Killian, _yes_ ,” she hisses out, her eyes sliding shut as her clit rubs against his pubic mound. She slants her hips so she’s making the contact continuously, and Killian basks in the way his name falls from her lips. He can feel his climax building, steady and strong, better than any and all encounters he’s had over the last three and a half years.

Right when he thinks he can hold back no longer, Emma moans low and pushes her hips down, hard, still rocking against him as her muscles clench around him. He wraps his arms around her tight, holding her to him as he gives a last good thrust and empties himself into the condom.

They both come down in increments. Their muscles relax, their breathing slows, and finally, their heart rates settle to something slow and steady, a happy noise escaping from between Emma’s lips as she sighs.

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep earlier,” she mumbles, finally turning to look at him with a soft smile on her face.

“It’s all right, love. You needed the rest. How are you feeling?” The brief light that shone in her eyes goes out just as quickly, and he’s determined to get her to talk about this before they move forward with the process of trying to get her memories back. “Ah, will you tell me what’s wrong, then?”

“Killian, I’ve had to…” she doesn’t continue, just looks some cross between angry and embarrassed, and he gives her a patient smile.

“You’ve had to be intimate with other men?”

“Not, I mean, I didn’t _sleep_ with any of them,” she tacks on. “I haven’t slept with anyone since before you showed up as Cat.”

“If you hadn’t acted as you had over this last month, you’d surely be locked up along with Belle. You did what you needed to, and I’m _proud_ of you for that. Look where you are, instead of where you could be.”

She shrugs a little, seemingly accepting of his explanation. “You said, back in wherever, that I loved you. What were we? What happened to us?”

The quick jolt to his heart is not a pleasant one. He’s told her nearly everything else, but he’s managed to skirt around this the whole time. “Do you mind if we, um,” he gestures vaguely at their bodies. The sweat on his skin has dried but the condom is now squelchingly uncomfortable where he’s slipped out of Emma, and he thinks maybe this is not a position they should stay in if she wants to talk.

“Oh! Oh, yeah. Here.” She slides back, making a face as she removes the condom as best she can. There’s still a mess to clean up, so she pulls him from the bed and towards the bathroom. “Okay, now start talking,” Emma says as she urges them both towards the shower. “Tell me everything.”

And he does. He tells Emma of their first kiss amongst the flowers, of the flirting and the adoration that grew over time, how she resisted him and he resisted her but that they both found that given any other option, they still wanted each other. They shower quickly, redressing before going to pop dinner into the oven to heat, and then head to the bedroom to change the sheets.

“You told me in the spring before your twenty-fifth birthday that you were going to tell your parents not to invite possible suitors. It was always your choice who to marry, but they were going to bring around any eligible man for you to meet. From that point on, we officially started courting.”

He blushes as he tells her about their first fumbling intimacies, how they’d mostly worked above fabric because of time and privacy issues. She grins wide, placing the last pillow back on the bed before grabbing his hand to pull him out to the kitchen.

“The day before your birthday, I spoke with your father to get his blessing. I’d just gotten your ring from the jeweler, and that’s when he filled me in on the safety measures for your birthday ball and why they were necessary.”

As soon as he mentions the idea of blessings and rings, he feels Emma tense beside him where they work on assembling dinner together. He chances a look down at her, her eyes worried and immeasurably sad. “You were going to propose to me for my birthday?”

“Aye.”

Her gaze flickers down to the ring that’s never left her finger. “Killian, is this…?”

“Sadly, no. It _is_ your mother’s ring. I suspect they had the fairies imbue it with some type of spell, but that it didn’t work. You were only supposed to have it until I could give you mine; your mother even told me as much.”

“I’ve always felt calmer whenever I look at this ring. It makes me feel warm and loved, but I never knew it could be a magical Hallmark card from my parents. Why didn’t I get yours?”

He closes his eyes in pain, remembering a young lieutenant walking proudly to her rooms with a tray, remembering the elation right before what felt like his heart being ripped out and crushed in front of his own eyes. “I went to get us breakfast. We ah, consummated the night before. For the first time. For both of us.” He damns himself for blushing and stumbling over the words, as if they hadn’t just consummated again, as if they hadn’t both been with other partners over the years. “When I got back with the tray, with the ring inside, your bed was empty.”

“Oh, Killian.” She turns him toward her to wrap her arms around his shoulders, kissing him sweetly before pulling back again. “And then it took you three years to find me.”

“That’s not all,” he admits, sighing as he moves to the doorway of the kitchen in order to pace. From there, he tells her all about his metamorphosis into piracy, and the women his men regularly bought for him. “While you never knew you had someone out there looking for you, I did. I knew that you were out there somewhere and still I took those other women to bed. I forbade them from kissing me, placed limitations on the encounters. And otherwise I closed my eyes and pretended it was you.”

“And if you hadn’t?” Emma questions.

“If I hadn’t, I’m sure I would have lived, Swan. I hardly _needed_ to have sex in the time I was looking for you.”

“But you were lonely, and you had _no_ way to find me. Killian, I would never blame you or fault you for being with other women in the time we were apart. You had no guarantee you’d even find me again, let alone make me fall for you all over again.” She adds the second half with a sly grin, letting him know that she’s much fonder of him than he ever expected her to be in this state.

“And I don’t mind that you’ve been with other men, either.”

“And women,” she mutters, but Killian just laughs.

“Oh, so even less has changed than I thought it did,” he remarks.

“What?”

“Between our first kisses and our official courtship, you used to practice kissing with your maids. While you weren’t intimate with them, they gave you tips on how to please yourself, and how to pleasure men.”

“Oh yeah?” That smug smile is back, her lip finding itself between her teeth again as she looks him up and down. “And where did you learn?”

“I practiced kissing with your maids, as well, and taught them as much as they taught me,” he says, quirking an eyebrow up in response. “Ah, so this explains a great deal about the veterinarian who seemed rather friendly with you.”

Emma doesn’t respond, but the blush and nervous laugh say everything. “So, about dinner?”

They bump hips as they each take a serving of the casserole, making eyes at each other while they eat. Midway through their meal, Killian shows Emma how they would eat meals in the castle. Both of them find it a challenge to sit straight, not slumping over the table to take from their plates.

“If it weren’t the dead of winter, we’d go and find a flower field, and I would make you frolick until those damn memories return.”

She chuckles, but drops her fork in surprise. “Oh! I can’t believe I keep forgetting to tell you!”

“Tell me what?”

“The _flowers_. I’ve had dreams about them before. I think I’ve had the dream a lot because it feels so familiar, but I only started _remembering_ it when you came along. In it, I have magic, and I’m kind of,” she pauses, circling her hands in a familiar gesture, “moving the colors? And then _you_ show up, and I feel happy, and the sun is shining, and it’s all so warm.” She trails off, her eyes unfocused as she recounts the dream to him. It sounds like the day they officially began courting, which brings an identical smile to his face.

“A common habit of yours. I used to refer to it as you confusing the poor blooms. _Definitely_ a memory. And a beautiful one, at that.”

Their evening is spent better than any time they’ve had together, which Killian is grateful for. He might only have two days left with Emma, and if this is to be his last experience as a human, he’s thankful for the easy embrace they find themselves in on the couch. He’s even more appreciative of it as he takes her to bed once more before they fall asleep.

He can almost feel the hours clanging in his head, the time running out, and Ursula’s words following him into slumber as he realizes they won’t make it. There’s not enough time.

-x-

Efforts to restore Emma’s memories resume in the morning, after Killian manages to kiss her so thoroughly that she’s not sure she’ll ever forget it. She sighs about that, completely content with how the previous twenty-four hours have progressed. She was so miserable when she got home from the bar the night before his change, and even during the day right before, but now it feels like that’s all far behind them.

There is a hint of desperation behind Killian’s every movement, every word, every look he gives her as they try more scents and sensations from her past. He’s continuously cursing the fact that it’s winter, for the flower field, for swimming in streams, for anything he can think of that they did over the course of their years as friends.

They have a smattering of scents from a bunch of candles she bought, all lined up in a row on the kitchen counter, but they’ve both abandoned them in favor of some hands-on activities, instead. Killian has just tugged on the cord to her sleep pants when there’s a knock on the door.

“Emma?” Regina’s voice is muffled but distinct.

“Hide,” Emma barely whispers, rubbing her cheeks furiously to bring up a flush and throwing her hair into a sloppy ponytail. His eyes go wide, but he hugs all the candles to his chest and tip-toe runs to the bedroom. “Hang on,” she calls out weakly, making sure Killian is out of sight before shuffling to the door.

“Hey, Graham told me you were still sick. I thought you just had too many shots the other night,” Regina comments as Emma opens the door. Her friend doesn’t wait for an invitation, just waltzes into the apartment and heads for the kitchen. “I brought ginger ale, and some broth from Granny’s. If it stays down, then you can add crackers to it later on.”

As subtly as she can, Emma glances towards her bedroom, hoping that Killian can hang out for a little while. The way Regina is acting means she’s not going anywhere soon, and the way the other woman is glancing at her makes it seem like Regina thinks she’s faking. Emma, normally quite terrible at faking anything more complicated than an orgasm during bad sex, manages to hunch over just the right way. The lack of sleep she got from staying awake with Killian most of the night helps make her look exhausted. For once, everything is stacking up in her favor.

For the rest of the morning and part of the afternoon, Emma and Regina spend time together like they really haven’t in a long time. She forgot how much it meant to her to have Regina to turn to, and in this quest to get her memories back, in light of Killian being there, Emma had forgotten that she still had a life and friends here, and she feels guilty for forgetting.

“Where’s your cat?” Regina asks, somewhere between episodes of a show that’s playing reruns on TV.

“Probably burrowed into my sweaters again,” she says, trying for disinterested and hopefully succeeding. It suddenly hits her that if they break this curse thing, there’s no turning back. They’ll have to get out of Storybrooke as fast as possible before anyone finds out. She wonders if Killian has an exit plan in place. She gets lost in the thoughts of what will happen if they succeed, what it would be like to remember everything he’s already told her.

“…and I think I’ve lost you,” she hears Regina finish, and she blinks and turns her face towards her.

“What was that?”

Regina chuckles, gathering the empty bowl from in front of Emma and heading for the kitchen. “I think you should take a nap. You spaced out pretty far there for a minute. A little more rest and more fluids and you should be on the mend. Your cheeks even look less flushed than when I got here. Granny really does make magical, healing food.”

Emma agrees in some form or another, accepting Regina’s offer to lock up as she leaves so she can burrow into the couch. She waits until she can hear the faint sound of Regina’s door close down the hall before she lifts the blankets off her body and goes to find Killian. He’s just peeking his head out, sighing in relief as he goes directly for the bathroom.

“I was worried I’d have to find a way in there to use the litter box,” he tells her when he emerges. They make sure to stay quiet, just in case Regina decides to come back and linger. He mutters on about lost time, and they go back to brainstorming possible ways to unbury her memories.

They resume their test of smelling the candles. He chooses cherries as he tells her about parties they spent huddled beneath serving tables sneaking desserts and hiding from her parents. The one that smells like fresh rain is used when he describes getting caught outside the castle, a slow walk that turned into an argument.

“What did we fight about?”

“Nothing important,” he tells her, waving his hand to try to continue with the game they’ve created instead of admitting the reason.

“No, tell me,” she urges, the candle close to her grin as she takes small whiffs of it. “Maybe it’ll help.”

“We were discussing who would win in a fight between your parents.”

“Between my parents? Like, Snow White and Prince Charming? My king and queen parents that would likely never go up against each other in hand to hand combat?”

“Your mother bested your father in a fight when they first met. You’d be surprised at how fiery the queen is.”

“But Charming would never fight back. It’s not even a question that Snow would win if Charming was just gonna let her win in the first place.”

“See, that’s where you’re wrong, love. If Snow was serious enough about it, Charming would fight her fair, and not hold back.”

“No no, even if he didn’t admit it, he would still let her win. He’s Prince Charming, for fuck’s sake.”

Killian drops his head back, looking at the ceiling for a moment as he mumbles something about experiencing angry nostalgia. “See now, _this_ is why I didn’t want to tell you because I _knew_ you’d say that.”

She laughs, setting the candle down and crowding him against the opposite counter, lost in a moment of wanting nothing more than to kiss him. “So, who won?”

“Between your parents?”

“Between us,” she clarifies, rubbing her palms up the planes of his chest and over his shoulders.

“We never settled the argument,” he admits, pulling her closer and bunching the fabric of her t-shirt in his hand. “You pinned me against the wall by the gardens, kissed the argument right from my lips as the rain fell around us.”

“Sounds familiar,” she sighs out, pushing up onto her toes to kiss him once more.

After a brief interlude, they resume the game with cinnamon for her favorite drinks, balsam with cedar to reflect the Yule decorations, lemon lavender for their favorite spring cookie, and mountain lodge for fires in the common room during winter. Nothing works, but Emma slides from one dreamy smile to another as he regales her with story after story of each location and event.

Late in the evening, he’s almost frantic as he pulls her to the bedroom, and she quickly loses count of the number of times he brings her over the edge in quick succession. She only focuses again when he finally follows her across that line, their bodies sweaty and lax against each other, his smile the most serene thing she’s seen all day from him. She falls asleep wondering if she really is in love with him, and knows it certainly feels that way as his hand strokes along her spine.

She’s peppy in the morning, bouncing into the living room with all the energy she can muster. It’s another day off, this one planned, so she has all day with him. She’ll have to go in for the next couple days in a row but it’ll be worth it. Next month, she’s sure she can find a way to wrestle the days off again. But when she gets to the living room, Killian is on the couch, his elbows perched on his knees and his hand over his eyes. “Killian?”

If she didn’t know any better, she would say he’s almost crying.

“Swan,” he says, his voice low and shaky. “Come sit with me.”

“What’s wrong? You’re freaking me out.”

He doesn’t talk at first, instead indicating to sit next to him, and he takes her hand in his to just hold it for a minute. “There’s something I’ve left for too long,” he finally admits.

Her face falls, or more accurately, she feels it turn cold and stony in the face of his admission. All of this time and he _still_ felt it necessary to hide things from her. “What is it?” she bites out, pulling her hand from his at the same time.

“This is the last day we can try,” he tells her.

“Yeah? It’s the last day of this full moon cycle. We’ve been doing this for a couple months now. I’ve got the pattern down.”

“No, Emma. It’s _really_ the final day. Ursula gave me a time limit of six months. After that, spells can become too weak to sustain. This is the last day that… that I’ll be human.”

“So next month…”

“Next month, when the full moon rises, I will remain a cat. I’ll live as your house pet, if you’ll allow me to.”

“You can’t be fucking serious.”

“I’m sorry,” he says as he reaches for her hand again, but she snatches it away from him. “Emma, I’m – I’m so sorry. I didn’t think… I had no idea… But it’ll be my honor to live out the rest of my days in this apartment with you. You have wonderful friends, and a profession you love. Surely, you’ll – “

“No.”

“What?”

“No, Killian. What can we do? Kiss me, you said that would work, right? At the beginning of this? Kiss me,” she says, practically lunging for his face, her lips smacking against his haphazardly. She’s not sure what she’s expecting, but other than a really shitty kiss with Killian, nothing happens.

He pulls back, just as stunned, apparently. “It didn’t work,” he croaks. His face is the picture of defeat and Emma just… she needs this to _work_. Can they try again? Is this magic 8 ball style where they just have to try again later? In a fit of anger, she swats his bicep and fights the urge to storm off. “What were you _thinking?_ Why wouldn’t you tell me something like that? That’s a _really important detail_ , Killian!”

His mouth opens, in defense or explanation, she’s not sure, because she barrels right on ahead.

“And what would’ve happened next month when you didn’t transform? Did you think I wouldn’t notice or something? _Jesus_.” She does stand up this time, angrily pacing the length of her living room. She was in such a happy bubble the last two days, only to have this dropped on her.

“I didn’t want to add pressure with everything else,” Killian explains, but even his excuse sounds half-assed.

“Oh yeah, and _this_ doesn’t add pressure, Killian?” She recognizes that she’s almost shouting, but she’s beyond any point of caring.

And then something else hits her: Cats have _really_ shitty lifespans.

Somewhere after he told her about the spell he was under, he told her how he’s supposed to call Ursula when he’s ready, when Emma has her memories back, but she wonders if it’ll work without her being restored.

“You have to go back.” It’s not a request. It’s not a question. It’s an order from his princess. Even she can recognize it in her voice.

“Excuse me?”

“You have to call Ursula, and you have to go back. I’m sure she’ll take you back without me. You go to the beach tonight and you find the shell, and you call her. Got it?”

He sits there, unable to do anything but gape at her. “I can’t bloody _leave_ you, Swan.”

“Killian – “

“No, Swan. You’ll be trapped here. You’ll _know_ what’s going on from now on when someone shows up. How long until someone catches on that you’re not like them anymore? It’s not like Ursula will grant me another six months to come try again, love. You’ll be left here on your own, only supported by the whole population of the place they house those they call insane. I won’t go, Emma. You can’t make me.”

“Do you want to honestly tell me you’d be satisfied living here as a cat? You’ll never kiss me again. Hell, Killian, you’ll never touch me human to human again. Do you _really_ think that’s a good life? You’ll get pets, and cuddles, and I’ll probably look really sad every time I see you. And one day, how many years from now, I’ll have to put you to sleep because you’re old and sick and dying and I don’t want you to suffer, and I’ll always have to live with the knowledge that I had to euthanize _my almost fiancé._ ” She takes him by the shoulders, having advanced on him with each panicked sentence. “Do you understand that I can’t do that? I don’t want to lose you. But I can’t, I _could never_ live with myself if you’re stuck like that out of some fucked up sense of honor or duty or whatever bullshit you’ll try to claim.”

He swallows hard before resting his hand and wrist on her waist. “I can’t go back home without knowing that you’re going to be okay, Swan. I would rather be trapped here than live without you again. Those three years were the hardest to live through. What’s ten years as a cat as opposed to the rest of my lifetime without you?”

There’s no response that either of them can give after that, so instead, he kisses her. And man, does he _kiss_ her. Emma didn’t think they could get any better. Clearly, they could get worse if her earlier attempt was anything to go by, but this is something special. It’s heated but still delicate. It’s the perfect measure of want, and need, and _love_ … _Fuck_ , she loves him so much, and she breaks the kiss only long enough to tell him so, hearing it whispered back as the tears fall from both their eyes –

Her eyes pop open the second it happens, just in time to see some weird rainbow of light shoot out in a circle around them, and it all comes flooding back: The kiss in the meadow, kicking him in the shins when he told her she couldn’t fly at age eleven, the feeling of magic coursing through her veins, which prompts her entire body to light up like a freaking Christmas tree and Killian stumbles back from her totally stunned.

“Bloody hell,” he mutters, eyes wide as he stares. “Emma?”

“Oh my god,” she squeaks out, but she flings herself back at him because it’s been _three and a half years_ since she kissed him proper, since he climbed out of her bed and _holy shit_ , “I can’t believe you found me. And you lost your fucking hand, you _idiot_.”

“That is the most unbecoming language I’ve ever heard from the mouth of a princess, but I couldn’t be happier, love.” He’s laughing, a stray tear still streaking down his face as he places his palm on her cheek.

“My pirate,” she says, and they both sober immediately. But he kisses her in the absence of words, his mouth hungrily moving against hers. They don’t need to talk now. They’ve been together but they haven’t totally _been_ together in all this time, and she wants nothing more than to show him how much she missed him.

Her hands are still glowing, even as she plucks at the ties on his pants and tries to pull his shirt off all at once. He’s just managed to divest her of her own top when there comes a pounding knock on the door.

“Emma?” This time, Regina doesn’t wait for Emma to open the door, instead using her key to barge in. She doesn’t even blink at the delicate position they’re in, with Emma pressed close to hide the prominent erection in Killian’s sweatpants, his hand still on one of her breasts, her hands beneath the fabric of his pants to grasp his ass. “What the _fuck_ just happened?” she asks instead, slamming the door shut and making it obvious she’s not going anywhere until her questions are answered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HA HA HA I WILL ACCEPT ALL FORMS OF YELLING.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of last chapter becomes clearer, and an escape plan is hatched!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This week's chapter art is as astounding as every other week. Please make sure to go give love to clockadile on Tumblr for her amazing artistic contributions! Ps sorry I keep forgetting to change the stupid publication date.

Neither of them move away immediately, including Killian's hand remaining firmly on her breast over her bra, as if letting it go means he's somehow letting  _her_  go and he just can't bear to do that. But Regina plants herself on the couch in front of them, and crosses her arms over her chest. With a sigh and one more squeeze, he finally moves his hand to her waist, turning her so her back is to his front until his delicate situation has gone down.

"What the hell was that?"

"Regina? Do you, I mean, what do you think happened?"

"I don't know? There was a gust of wind and then this weird rainbow flew through the room." As if hearing what she's just said, she slumps a little and presses the back of her hand to her forehead. "Oh god, Emma, what did you eat the other day? Maybe I have what you have."

Emma chuckles, for once knowing exactly how she feels. "No, we're not sick. I'll explain everything to you if you promise not to tell anyone else."

If it's possible, Regina looks even more skeptical. It's so strange looking at her and knowing that her likeness has looked on from the Hall of Portraits her entire life. The reality is much snarkier, less cruel than some stories have led her to believe. She wonders how much of that is a product of this cursed personality, but then again, she realizes that the core of who she was didn't fade because she was cursed here.

Turning to Killian, she motions for her shirt, which he bends to pick up as he grabs his own. "Can we get you something to drink? I think I have a bottle of rum in the kitchen."

"I don't do rum," Regina says with a dismissive sniff. "So, your uh, friend from a foster home?"

The unstated question hangs in the air as Emma and Killian each slide their shirts back on. "My name is Killian," he offers, stretching out his hand.

"That was just on my best friend's breast," she states plainly.

It's all too much, and Emma snorts as she scurries off to the kitchen to grab a couple beers (surely, it's after noon somewhere, right?) while trying to hold back her laughter. When she returns, Killian has dragged the coffee table away from the couch in order to sit on it, leaving the extra spot on the couch open for her.

"Okay, by the time I'm done explaining this, you're gonna want to have me locked up in the room next to Belle, but you have to trust me, and don't tell Graham."

The other woman furrows her brows, nodding for Emma to continue.

It takes three beers to get through the story, to explain where Emma came from, and why she's there. She does her best to explain Killian's presence, with him filling in any details she doesn't know.

"So, let me get this straight. I'm a former queen, you're a princess that was kidnapped, and this guy was in the navy until he ran off to become a pirate?"

"That's the very abridged version of it," Killian says, gathering their empty bottles to take back to the kitchen.

"And he's also your boyfriend?"

Killian hesitates, obviously straining to hear Emma's response to this question. One corner of his mouth is lifted in a smirk as he makes eye contact with her. Emma smiles as she looks fondly in the direction he disappeared. "Yeah, probably a little more intense than boyfriend, but that's a good start."

"And he was also your cat?"

"I know it sounds crazy…" Emma starts, but before can even continue, the other woman is cutting her off.

"This is too much," Regina says, standing up and heading for the door.

"No no, wait!" Emma rushes past her and leans on the door. "Listen, I know how weird this all sounds. But do you remember three years ago when I got lost in the woods?"

"What? No. Belle got lost in the woods a couple months ago. Didn't she?"

"She was found there, but Regina, I came first. A couple years ago, we ran into each other in the hallway and I didn't remember who you were because I had a head injury and they said I had amnesia. Do you remember taking me to lunch and helping me find a new phone?"

The gears are turning, Emma can see that much, especially when Regina shakes her head a little to try clearing the fog. The action looks so familiar to Emma that she has to stop herself from shaking her own head. In her periphery, Emma can see Killian standing in the kitchen doorway, tense and waiting to see if they'll have to run sooner than they thought.

"I can remember going to get you a new phone, but that doesn't seem like what happened."

"Push through that fog, Regina. Think about my twenty-fifth birthday, and how I supposedly drank too much and got lost in the woods and you bumped into me in the hall a couple days later."

"Outside the apartment," she adds on, her voice far away as she tries to recount what happened, "and you apologized to me like I was a complete stranger. Emma, you're not lying."

"I'm not. It's all true, but it seems so fake, right?"

"Right," the other woman says, and she squeezes her eyes shut. The town is trying to force the fake memories back on her, Emma can tell, and the resulting headache is going to be awful. "Did you get a lot of headaches?" Regina asks, as if hearing her thoughts.

"Yeah, keep thinking about what I said. Take some pain pills, and go take a nap. It'll get better. And remember," Emma says in the most commanding voice she can, "do not tell anyone about this. Not even Robin, okay?"

"Okay, fine."

With a quick plan to meet the next morning for breakfast, she sees Regina out and closes the door, securing the lock with a satisfying  _thunk_. She knows Killian is going to be standing nearby, and she knows that they're officially alone again.

When she turns, she's not surprised to see him propped against the wall leading to the kitchen, his stance relaxed now that their company is gone. He smiles, his lips slowly curling upwards and his thumb hooked into the waistband of his sweats. "Swan," he greets. His voice is deeper than she remembers, rougher now that she thinks about how he was speaking all day. He really has become her pirate. Her heart flutters, her stomach dips, and there's a swooping down lower that has everything to do with the way he's standing and looking at her. She  _could_ take him straight back to bed, but…

"Wanna tell me again how you became a pirate? Maybe don't leave out the details I won't understand this time?"

Sensing the shift in mood, he straightens and takes a few solid steps towards her. "I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours. I'd like to know what happened after you disappeared from that bed."

The images that flash through her mind cause her heart to thump wildly in her chest. "We need to make lunch, I'm gonna need some more alcohol, and I'll tell you if you really want me to."

"I would. I cannot find the words to tell you the chaos that ensued after you went missing, Emma. I can never fully explain what  _I_  went through when I came back to that empty room."

She can't imagine what that was like, not just for Killian, but for her family, as well. She suddenly longs for nothing but her parents' arms. All of her life she longed to grow up so she could find her own way in the world, but despite being on the brink of her own marriage, she was never ready for the harsh separation that they went through.

It's not like she knew they were missing her, though. For the last three and a half years she's lived this happy little existence, working her hours at the station, coming home, sometimes drinking away the feeling that she wasn't where she belonged. It's another hard pill to swallow that she's been fucking her way through Storybrooke trying to find her place in the world. She, Emma Swan, the woman who decided at twenty-three (but maybe even earlier) that Killian Jones would be the man to take her virginity, and would only ever be with him for all her days.

Of course, Killian has had his own adventures. He's just told her about them, even, and the women he's been with. All of these thoughts float through her head, settling in a pool somewhere in the middle of her brain until she can process all of it.

"It's going to be difficult to get through the last three and a half years, you know."

"Aye, but you can start at that first moment, tell me what that crocodile did to you, tell me he didn't hurt you too badly." The soft pressure of his palm on her cheek is what brings her attention back to the present. Her eyes focus on him, and he gives her a tremulous smile as his fingers drift down to tap her chin. Then he's moving away towards the kitchen to make good on their plan of food and alcohol.

She watches as he makes them sandwiches, opting for peanut butter and jelly so they can eat sooner rather than later. She tries to figure out what to explain first, opting for the moment they would've last seen each other the day after her birthday.

"Well, I mean, he didn't, technically." Emma takes a deep breath as she prepares herself for this conversation. "I remember you moving from the bed to go get breakfast, and I fell back to sleep. It couldn't have been long after you left that his magic broke through the barrier. I don't know why it weakened. He was able to create a damper so it wouldn't be heard when he broke the lock. I could feel the magic in the air only moments before he had me bound and gagged, using the early morning and the guards around the palace fighting sleep to his advantage. He made me watch as he left his  _calling card_  on the pillow for you, and then we were gone."

She stops there, pulling out a couple plates from one cabinet and a bag of chips from the pantry. "After that? I got carelessly thrown around and dragged through the woods. I managed to break his bonds for a second and tried to run for it. He transported me  _while_  I was running, so I shot through the portal at full speed. When I got to the other side, I immediately forgot why I was running, so I just kept going. I stumbled into the same clearing where I found Belle a couple months ago. I'm lucky that two hikers or campers – oh  _geez_ , now that I think about it, those two used to be palace cooks when I was a kid. Anyway, they found me and got me to the hospital."

She explains that the head wound was mostly from when she fell on her face when she broke the bonds. "If I hadn't resisted, I probably wouldn't have ended up injured. I doubt he would've cared if I had died once I was over here, though." He tenderly lifts his fingers to brush against the faint scar she still has. Again, she's baffled by how much the small gestures affect her.

"He deserves to lose a limb or two of his own for letting harm come to you at all," he murmurs, leaning forward to press his lips to the old wound. She squeezes her eyes shut, in awe that her stomach jumps in a familiar way that she didn't know it could yesterday. "I know this was all because of some prophecy, and that your parents thought if we got past your birthday without incident that everything would be fine. Why the birthday? What was the full prophecy?"

"So, from what I'm to understand, there's this prophecy a soothsayer told him about me. Something about how the twenty-fifth year of my life would unlock my potential to destroy the full spectrum of the darkness. I guess he figured if he just…sent me to another realm that would take care of it. I thought Dad told you all of this."

"Your father never gave me the full details about it. He told me about the security measures, but it was just assumed that he would strike on your birthday. Nothing about the morning after."

"Yeah, well, since when has he done anything the easy way? I feel his presence everywhere, now that I can identify it. It's always like someone is watching me when I'm walking down the street. He has a way of seeping in everywhere, I guess."

"That's what worries me. That's what makes me want to get to the water faster."

While they eat, Emma pushes along, telling Killian about the hospital, and how the fact that she was found in the woods eventually faded away. Even when Cat showed up, she still remembered pieces of the incident, but it kept fading until even she didn't remember how she got to Storybrooke. She tells him all about the friends she made and the exceptionally non-threatening adventures she's had while she's been here.

Once the table is clear, Emma makes them each a mug of hot chocolate, dragging a blanket from her closet to pull over their laps as they settle onto the couch for the second half of their stories. They go through Killian's tale – starting with him storming out of her parents' sitting room that day and coming up with a plan to steal Liam's ship.

"Wait, wait. You stole the  _Jewel of the Realm_? This is just connecting now. Oh, Liam must've been  _pissed_."

"Oh, he was. Probably still is. I sent them enough gold to cover the cost, eventually."

She laughs at that, throwing her head back as she nearly cackles in delight. "What do you bet the chances are that it also pissed off my father?"

"I'm nearly sure of it. Your mother always sent me messages though, before I told that boy to tell them I was dead. I do feel awful now for putting them through that. I can only imagine how they handled the news."

"Well, Liam must not have believed you," she says, tangling her fingers with his for a second before reaching out to stroke along the empty skin where his other hand once was. He flinches, but ultimately relaxes into her touch. "Belle got transported here because there was a man questioning her. But it's not what you told me about visiting her. It was Liam, looking for you."

She watches the emotions cross his face, seeing the love for his brother, the sadness, and the giddiness all pass over before he swallows down his emotions. "Shouldn't be surprised. Bloody idiot is more stubborn than I am."

The sun goes down while they talk, and they go through every detail they can think of along the way. Emma orders Chinese delivery while Killian stumbles his way through what he sees as his decline into piracy, admitting that the best part of the whole experience was finding his love of the seas he sailed on.

"You know my missions with the navy were few and far at the start, and then I got the strategy title and never looked back. But when I wasn't following anyone's orders but my own, it was like I was meant to be there. The only thing missing from my life, in the grand spectrum, was you."

As she's getting used to, her heart lurches at his words, and she realizes that she loves him the same way she always did, even though they've both grown into evolved versions of themselves.

And then they're caught up to when a black cat appeared on the stoop of the apartment complex, and Emma can finally ask all the questions she's been saving for any "later" they would get.

"Okay, be honest with me. How much time did you actually  _know_  you were Killian while you were Cat?"

"Oh, very little. It was easier, sometimes, to just let go. I would hold on to my own facilities long enough to see you were okay, but every time you brought those blasted toys about, I was gone. I was a cat. I'd catch myself halfway up the curtains and suddenly think of our lives together, and then before I could concentrate too long, the thought would be gone and I'd be back to a common household animal again." His hand gestures while he speaks, and Emma strives to remember each moment she vowed to chastise him about.

"So the knocking shit off the tables?"

"All Cat," he says with a grimace.

"Kicking litter until it coated the floor?"

"I'm guessing that's why you moved it from the closet into the bathroom?"

"It was easier to clean up from the tile floors."

"Of course. Well, on behalf of my feline counterpart, I apologize. I hope any time I spent being adorable outweighed any time I was a nuisance."

There are plenty of other moments she can bring up, but decides he sounds sincere enough that she'll let him off the hook. Well almost, when she cocks her head to one side and asks, "Who says you were adorable?"

"How many photographs do you have of me on that talking mobile phone of yours?"

"Fine. Shut up." He wins this round.

-x-

The coupling they engage in that night is the reunion that Killian has been searching for since he left the castle in search of Emma. Above him or below him, she is sure and sensual, her movements fluid in a way that wasn't evident the last time they made love before she got her memories back.  _This_ is the body that knows his as the first.  _This_  is the woman who holds every aspect of his heart.  _This_  is the love they would've grown into over years of marriage, but thankfully this moment with her is so perfect that he forgets to feel pain at the loss of years they should've spent together.

When Killian falls asleep, it's with Emma curled against his side, his fingers paused in their motion up and down her spine and her hair getting caught in what could definitely classify as a beard at this point. She's drooling, her mouth open just enough that he can feel the dampness on his shoulder, but he can only focus on the fact that he's with Emma in all her versions, and nothing else matters.

He doesn't dream, and his body doesn't ache, but he wakes up early and rolls to press himself against Emma's back. Skin to skin, she hums as she wakes, her hand reaching back to clasp his neck as his lips and teeth find her shoulder. In a rough morning voice, he details all the ways he'll make her come undone, enjoying the way she pushes back against him in a defined rhythm.

With a glance at the clock, his hand wanders across her body, and he gives a lazy smile at the fact that the moon will be setting soon, and here he still is.

It's even more poetic as she stretches away just enough to grab protection before he slides inside her. They stay as is, her leg thrown over his hip as he enters her from behind. It's leisurely, and somewhere between making love and fucking by the way she commands him to move. He doesn't inform her of the significance of the time until after they're both spent, and Emma stretches languidly as she chuckles. Her body still has him in a firm grasp, and so the motion causes one last aftershock of his orgasm, and he buries his face against her shoulder as his breath stutters out.

Far too soon, she's moving away with a squeeze to his hip. "I'll go make us coffee. I have breakfast with Regina, and then I'm going to see if I can find you a pair of shoes to make the walk back to the beach. Any idea what will happen when you summon Ursula?" She shakes her head, then, disbelieving smile on her face. "I can't believe you got Ursula to help you. I heard she once turned someone into an urchin just for looking at her the wrong way."

"Was that before or after her father was taken by the Dark One?"

"Ooh, probably before. I do look forward to meeting her. She was always invited to our parties, but never attended. Maybe I can convince her to attend one if it's partially in her honor for helping to rescue a lost princess."

"Speaking of which, her father is supposedly somewhere in town. Before we call for her, I really do hope to poke around and look for him."

"I can do some research later. I have to go into the station at noon for my shift. I can't have Graham getting too suspicious."

"He  _really_  does sound…" He casts around in his memories for why the name sounds familiar. "You know, Emma, can you remember the guard that used to sneak us the sweets from the bakery in town sometimes? The sweetbreads with the poppy seeds?"

Emma thinks for a minute, and he watches the wheels turn. "Vaguely, I think he ended up leaving? Or –  _no_. Oh my gosh, go figure I became friends with him later in life. He's always taken care of me, too. I wonder why my parents never told us he went missing. I wonder if they even knew."

"How many others are here that we know?" Killian thinks aloud.

"I'm sure we'll figure that out eventually. Okay, I'll start the coffee pot and then I need a shower. I need to not look like I've had sweet, sweet, reunion sex for seventeen of the last twenty hours since she saw me last."

"There's still time to add to that count, love."

She looks like she's considering it, her eyes trailing down his chest to where the blankets are hiding the fact that he's already halfway to ready.

"Go, Swan. Go shower.  _I'll_  make the coffee. Or else I'm going to follow you in there and fuck you until breakfast turns into a late lunch."

When her tongue darts out to wet her lips, he can tell she's  _still_  not throwing the idea out the window, and Killian chuckles as he grasps her chin to kiss her. He nods in the direction of the bathroom, and Emma finally makes a terse noise as she slides out of the bed and pads out to the bathroom. Only when the door clicks behind her does Killian throw the covers off himself, scrounging through his pile of clothes for a pair of boxers and a t-shirt before he goes to start the coffee maker.

Emma ends up just stealing a sip from his mug, giving him a smacking kiss on the cheek as she darts out the door to meet Regina. He can hear her greet the other woman outside their apartment doors, and their chattering voices fade away down the hallway towards the elevator.

Unsure of what to do with himself, Killian takes the time to shower, borrowing a fresh razor from her supply to trim up his beard. It's still longer than he normally keeps it, but it'll do. Somewhere in the middle of the skin care routine he could really get used to, he thinks about what it would be like to live this life instead of one back in Misthaven. Life on Earth instead of in the Enchanted Forest is wildly different, in how  _not_ wild it is. He's barely finished cleaning up the bathroom sink when the door opens and closes again.

"We have a plan!" Emma calls out as she walks in. "And you have shoes!"

"Brilliant," he yells back, checking himself in the mirror one more time before wandering towards the sound of her voice.

"How was breakfast? How is Regina feeling?"

"She's doing better than I expected. She doesn't remember who she is, obviously, but she's receptive to the idea that everything she knows is a lie." She's pulling the shoes from a bag, the simple boots a little scuffed but otherwise sturdy looking. They look like they'll be the right size, which is what really matters.

"Okay, I have to go change for work. Did you make yourself breakfast yet?"

"Not yet. I showered and cleaned the bathroom. I surely will miss the convenience of disposable razors."

She chuckles, stroking a finger along the trimmed edge. "Well, enjoy as much of the electricity and indoor plumbing you want while I'm gone. I should be home in time for dinner. I'm bringing you Granny's tonight. There are things you need to try before we go back."

"I'll take your word for it, love."

Emma sidles away down the hall, and Killian tilts his head as he watches, enjoying the way her snug jeans hug her curves. Long dresses and large petticoats are never going to be the same.

He grazes his way through the remaining food in the refrigerator, leaving only enough for the next day so they can eat as Killian prepares and Emma goes to work again to keep up appearances.

She returns with a look of triumph and excitement. "It's our last night with modern conveniences. Let's live it up and use everything we won't have in Misthaven," she says decisively, and the glint in her eyes is not entirely innocent.

They turn on every light in the apartment while he tries a cheeseburger for the first time. They drink enough soda that the sugar high carries well into the evening, and she pulls out the toys she never used after he came to live with her. One thing is for sure: they're definitely  _not_ cat toys.

He memorizes the way she looks in the throes of passion, sweat glistening over the swell of her breasts as her skin flushes with orgasm. It's a sight to behold, indeed. Batteries, it turns out, are great fun in the bedroom. He's only sad they waited this long to use these items, as they both fall asleep with a level of exhaustion that only comes from intense passion that they both admit to never having felt before.

Emma leaves him in the morning with instructions for things to get ready for their departure. There's a satchel in her closet that she pulls out, and he packs a variety of the garments she's grown dependent on over the last three years, mostly of the underwear variety. He finds a slinky nightgown in the drawer, the tags still attached, so he packs that as well. No reason it should go to waste, after all.

He dresses in the jeans he favors, adding a button-down shirt and the brocaded vest. Last, he slips on the boots that Emma brought home the day before. He adds his own undergarments to the satchel and hauls it into the living room.

A late lunch is waiting for Emma when she gets home from the station. It uses up the last of the food they had so as not to leave waste behind. He trails behind her into the bedroom after they've finished eating so they can discuss what steps to take towards getting home, and what to do about the townspeople. She takes care to slip out of the uniform she's worn for the last three and a half years, hanging it back in the closet. She redresses in a pair of jeans, throwing on a long-sleeved shirt and a sweater, thick socks, and a tall pair of boots. She tops it all off with the red leather jacket he's seen her dress in more often than any other article of clothing.

After much debating about it, they decide that they'll have to find a way to break the memory curse around the portals so they can return for the others. Killian thinks of Belle trapped in the asylum, thinks of the people that Emma has befriended over the years, and voices his displeasure at leaving anyone behind.

"I think it's better that we get back to my parents and get reinforcements before we try to get anyone back. No one else outside that asylum has their memories back. We can hopefully take advantage of that until we figure out what to do to save them all."

"You've said you feel like the Dark One has eyes around town. Do you suppose he'll notice if there's someone he didn't send here wandering about?"

"I don't know. Anything is possible, but for now we'll operate under the assumption that he can't possibly keep track of everyone he's ever sent here. Right?"

He shrugs, a little less reassuring than she's looking for if her expression is anything to go by. "Right, but I guess we'll find out." In the face of his uncertain words, he gives her a solid kiss to make up for it.

Outside the apartment, Emma locks her door, her fingers brushing against the painted wood once more before she turns to greet Regina, who is just exiting her own apartment. The three of them climb aboard the elevator, which it turns out is much more unusual when he's not in the form of a cat. Much like riding aboard the  _Jolly Roger_  for the first time, his knees wobble a little as it reaches the ground floor.

It's apparent that there's something wrong the minute the elevator door slides open. There are a few people milling about the lobby of the apartment complex, which wouldn't be unusual, except that their eyes are trained on the now-open door, rather than the task they're pretending to do. Killian, against the wall of the enclosure, is hidden from view, and he flattens himself further in hopes of not being seen as soon as it's obvious something is wrong. Regina gives Emma a look that she must be able to read, because Emma says something about forgetting something at her place and tells Regina she'll meet her outside.

A curt nod from Regina follows, and she walks towards the exit at a brisk place. Emma pushes the button to return to her floor, standing almost protectively until the door slides shut. She all but bundles Killian back into the apartment, telling him to stay put as she goes out to meet Regina.

"I'll call if anything goes wrong," she says. Then she's kissing him quickly and closing the door behind herself.

Killian locks the door, watching through the peephole as she makes her way back down the hallway. Stuck in the apartment, the only thing he can do is pace and wait. The women are gone for over an hour, and Killian is on his twentieth circuit of the living room as Emma unlocks the door and enters with Regina. They have takeout in hand, a good cover for why they were out but also a necessity if they won't be leaving immediately.

"Okay, so we need a new plan," Emma says as she puts the bag down on the table. "When I got back downstairs, there was no one in the lobby. Which means they somehow know you're here. To be honest, a True Love's Kiss is probably not a very subtle bit of magic to go through a town that's not supposed to have magic."

"I never even considered that. Do you think the magic from the kiss was strong enough for him to detect from another realm? Is he ever actually here? What do you propose we do?"

"I suggested that we wait until nightfall," Regina responds. Her memories are still missing, but whatever Emma said to her at breakfast the day before must've convinced her of the validity of their claims. Since then, she's been instrumental in the plans for their return. "I don't know if that'll make much of a difference but at least we'll feel less like sitting ducks when we walk out. And we're going to use the stairs and side entrance this time, too."

Even when the sun goes down, there's an eeriness lingering around every corner. There are still people out and about, but they don't seem anywhere near as menacing as the ones in the lobby earlier in the day. At the very least, Killian is able to make it out of the building for the first time since he showed up as a cat.

Halfway to the docks, though, a man approaches them, asking for the time.

"It's eight fifteen," Emma informs him, but the man doesn't move. "Excuse us," she says, trying to edge around him. His expression is vacant, his eyes blown so wide that no iris is visible, just his large, unseeing pupils.

His hand raises up, stretching towards Killian. "You there, what time is it?"

"The lass already told you, it's quarter past the hour," he says, and then tries to move around. He's trying for impatient, bothered, but natural. The man's hand suddenly clamps around his bicep, his fingers digging into the muscle with strength he would've never assumed the man has.

"Are you sure,  _dearie_?" The man's lips twist unnaturally, and Killian's eyes grow wide at the image of the Dark One's smile on an unfamiliar face. He debates his best course of action, seeing as his only hand is incapacitated. The sleeve of his sweater is pulled as low as possible to hide the missing hand, another thing that they worried would catch attention earlier, and Killian knows he can hit the man with his arm if necessary –

It turns out that line of thought is completely unnecessary, as Emma lunges forward and punches the man square in the jaw. He falls to the side, and Emma snaps Killian out of his stunned state by asking him to help her move the guy into the alley closest to them.

There are more and more people dotting the way, some exiting establishments, and Emma grabs hold of his hand as Regina leads the way. Without fail, every person walking turns towards them, several that the women seem to recognize as they gasp before darting down side streets and pressing into the shadows the best they can all the way down to the waterline. They stick to alleys and unpaved roads until the shadows along those seem to be crawling with them, and they anxiously dance away from each building.

With no lights to guide them, Emma turns on the flashlight on her phone, illuminating their way as Killian tries to approximate the area he came to shore all those months ago. Unfortunately, the entire landscape feels different as a human, so he's starting to feel more and more anxious. When they get to an area that  _could_  be the right one, he presses his thumb to the space that Ursula touched, and turns in a circle to see if it glows brighter in any direction.

"Excuse me miss, do you have the time?" they hear the question asked, not by a single voice, but by several, all staggered in various tones and inflections.

Killian looks up to see a line of men standing just before the sand begins, and his eyes go wide. They're his men, the whole lot of them. There's Smee and helmsman and one of the best swordsmen he's ever met who joined the crew from the start and has never left his ship, and even the deckhand they recently took on before Killian found his destination. Their eyes are glazed, though, and unrecognizing.

"Distract them, I just need another minute to locate this bloody shell and then we can make a run for it," Killian snaps. He can feel his panic rising, looking between the expanse of shells and the men who have kept him sane over the last few years. "And for god's sake don't hurt them, they're all from my crew," he pleads.

"Excuse me men, I believe you're needed back at dock three," a voice rings out from their left. The crewmen all turn, their eyes clearing as they agree with the one who speaks before they walk off.

There are two men watching his crew walk away to make sure they go, but the newcomers keep their position as they stand guard.

"I believe that should make your mission easier," the same man says again, and Killian squints his eyes to see him better. He can only assume the one that spoke is Ursula's father, and he's surprised to see the man looks fully aware of who they are and why they're there. There's no time to question him, of course, because the second man is the one who immediately commands all of his attention.

There stands Brennan Jones, not a day older than the last time Killian saw him before he shipped out when Killian was only a wee lad.

Killian desperately wants to ask Brennan questions, a thousand questions all at once popping into his head. How did his father get here and why were they told he was dead? He wants to know what he knows, if he knows anything, about the life he left behind in Misthaven, and the teenage Liam and toddler Killian that were without a father far sooner than they should've been. He wants to tell Brennan that he's a widower, but he cannot get his mouth to function.

"You three need to move along, immediately. My daughter is waiting for your call," the other man says, confirming Killian's suspicions that he's Ursula's father, Poseidon. He's only able to raise his hand in something like thanks, or greetings, or salutations, before the mark on his arm flashes bright and he can see the shell out of the corner of his eyes.

"Be safe," Brennan says, not showing any recognition that he's speaking to his own son, but smiling warmly at all three of them. They don't have time for anything else, and Killian curses time,  _all time, no time_ , before he turns to grab the shell that's emitting a faint light.

"You'll want to be moving a little faster," another voice says from the space where his sailors just occupied, and Regina looks distinctly guilty as Robin comes closer. "The police force has just been dispatched to search for three escapees of the mental institution."

"Do you have it?" Emma asks, pulling him in yet another direction. He glances back at his father, his throat seizing up with emotion as he looks his fill for a second.

He nods, holding it up as he finds his voice. "Let's head for the woods to try to lose them."

"We'll try to throw them off the trail," Poseidon assures him.

"Killian, come on," Emma urges, pulling him by the hand and away from the two men. He only gets one last look at his father before he turns and runs with the others.

There are two possibilities for why they're able to pull off the call to Ursula: either Brennan and Poseidon have succeeded in redirecting the men away from them, or they've found a stretch of beach by the woods that the others cannot find. No matter what the reasoning, Killian is grateful for being able to whisper Ursula's name into the shell before chucking it into the waves.

In a matter of moments, the sea witch herself emerges from the water, her eyebrows arched in surprise. Killian doesn't know if that's due to him calling or because of the entourage that surrounds him.

"I was beginning to worry you wouldn't call. The last full moon set and I hadn't heard from you," she admits. Still, she eyes Regina and Robin with suspicion before she turns her attentions back to Emma and Killian.

"Had to keep you on your toes, so to speak," Killian declares. "Your father helped us escape. I wasn't able to bring him with us, and for that I apologize."

She lifts her hand in acceptance. "A little magic goes a long way. I asked him to help if you ever made it down to the beach. I'll look forward to reuniting with him for good after you've defeated the Dark One. Now, I agreed to transport you and Princess Emma back, so what about these other two?"

"Regina needs to come with us. She was the most powerful student Rumplestiltskin ever had before she went missing and I think she can help defeat the darkness when we all get back," Emma tells her.

"Regina? You mean the Evil Queen? The one that terrorized the lands for so long that we were actually  _relieved_  when she went missing?"

"I assure you," Regina asserts, her face the picture of disgruntled, "that whatever I was before, I'm not now. When my memories return, I promise to offer my sincerest apologies. But right now, there are a whole bunch of people looking for us so it might be best to haggle out the details later."

As if right on cue, there's a shout somewhere in the woods, quite possibly indicating that someone has located them.

"Right. Okay. All of you step right this way then." Ursula beckons them further, and Killian is the only one who doesn't immediately step towards the water.

"Don't you need us to do anything else? What animal will we be transporting as?"

The second Ursula chuckles, his face pinches up in a sour expression. "Oh, Captain, there may have been one or two unnecessary steps to your transportation. I could've changed you once you were already here. I probably could've gotten you closer to the princess, too." There's a twinkle in her eye that Killian doesn't care for at all, and he almost anticipates the next words out of her mouth. "Pearl sends her regards."

Emma turns to look at him, her eyebrow going up, and Killian ducks his head as the flush spreads over his cheeks. He will never live this one down.

"You wasted two bloody weeks of my time for vindication?"

"I was keeping an eye on your situation. If a full month had gone by before you got to the princess, I would've intervened. But truly, any longer and the Dark One would've definitely sniffed you out. The waterways have been nothing but gossip about how he's on a manhunt for one with a missing hand. Now, we're wasting time, Captain."

"Well, it's a good thing we got lucky in the eleventh hour," he says, and shuffles forward after that, reaching for Emma's hand just before the magic of the waterways swallows them up. The trip is brief, with a bubble surrounding them on all sides. He glances at Emma as they zip past the line of one realm and into another, and the look on her face is pure exhilaration. Robin and Regina look mystified, but neither are as worried about magic as he assumed they would be. He wonders if that's a product of how calming Emma has been, or if it's their true personalities recognizing something they knew before.

Killian knows the beach they land on, just along a similar ride of forest on the edge of Misthaven's borders. He's felt the sands beneath his feet many times before, but it's been too long. He breathes a sigh of relief, noting the lack of pollution and absence of electrical buzz in the air. The only thing he'd yet to grow accustomed to was the effects of the technology.

In the space it takes for him to inhale and exhale again, it all happens at once.

Ursula's eyes widen and she's gone in an instant, back beneath the waves they just emerged from. Killian turns just in time to see Robin yanked into the woods. There are no physical forces pulling him, so it must be the power of magic. Regina goes running after him, making impressive speed in the heels she refused to leave behind.

"No, wait!" Emma tries to stop her before running after her as well, and Killian follows because what the bloody hell else is he supposed to do?

It's a trap, of course, which Killian should've known after what they went through to get back down to the water in Storybrooke. They're surrounded by tall trees on all sides in the clearing they wind up in. Robin, though unconscious, is otherwise unharmed. As Regina stoops to check on him, she's thrown into the nearest tree, her body connecting with such a sound that Killian winces even as he tries to get to Emma.

He stumbles towards her, but he's hit with a blast of magic. In despair, he realizes that he's familiar with his new perspective. The bastard has turned him back into a cat, and he watches helplessly as he tries to untangle from his clothes as the trees and the shadows all morph into the Dark Ones of all the ages passed. Rumplestiltskin steps forward, his skin shimmering in the moonlight that filters in through the trees.

"Well, well, dearies. So glad you could  _drop_  in."

It feels like it takes hours for him to escape from the prison of his own clothes, but he at least surfaces enough to look out. Regina, now limping, just makes it back to Emma's side as the circle around them presses inward.

"I hope you're all prepared to die together." The demon raises his hands, the magic circulating between them, and his smile grows more unhinged as he readies his final blow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my gosh, there's only one more left!! Can you believe?! Thank you, thank you, Thank You! To all of you who are still with this story. I am so pleased that you're enjoying this!


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Dark One has them surrounded, and it all comes down to Emma and Regina gearing up for the final battle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. This is it. This is the end of the saga. I really hope you all enjoyed it. Please feel free to let me know what you thought of this! Any of it, all of it, just the end, whatever. Thank you to those who have already left comments, gave kudos, and kept with it. Seeing the response to this from week to week just made it all worth it. This chapter includes some battle in the beginning, some smut later on, and hopefully a satisfying end. Please make sure to stop over to tumblr if you get a chance to heap love on clockadile's amazing artwork. She brought life and love to each and every chapter and I cannot imagine this story without her beautiful contributions.

Surrounded on all sides by the presence of Dark Ones.

It’s not _exactly_ how Emma would’ve imagined a homecoming, but it’s what she’s getting. Regina is standing steady beside her, holding her arm, but otherwise there’s a fire in her eyes that Emma can’t remember ever seeing in their time as friends.

“You okay?”

“Never better,” the other woman grits out, and there’s an edge that she’s never _heard_ before. Emma raises an eyebrow at her, and the look Regina gives her back is telling more than anything. “Might’ve shaken something loose,” she adds.

When Emma was growing up, stories about her mother’s step-mother were very few and far between. Snow always told the story of how Regina saved her from a runaway horse accident, and how Snow would later betray her on accident by sharing a secret she was never supposed to tell. Emma knew the lore that Snow was framed for Regina’s disappearance when it was thought that Regina killed Snow’s father, and even had to go through high trial for it, but no one could prove anything so the issue was buried and Snow was crowned queen.

Every story about Regina included her fierce tenacity and the strength in her voice, and Emma is seeing all of that right next to her. Her suspicions are further confirmed when the barest hint of a spark emits from Regina’s fingertips. Unlike her own magic, Regina’s is red, reflecting her fiery personality. It’s all extremely fitting to the woman she got to know in Storybrooke.

They both do a visual check of their surroundings. Killian, back to poor Cat, is still trying to pull his leg free from the pile of his clothes. Robin is still mostly unconscious, but he at least winces and curls into a ball, which isn’t the worst sign of life she’s ever seen. They need to wait for the perfect opportunity to strike, but being outnumbered is really putting a damper on any possible plan.

All things considered, Emma figures there are worse ways to die. They’re not going down without a fight, and maybe Killian can run away fast enough. Of course, judging by the way he limps his way over to stand by her feet when he’s finally free, maybe that’s not a possibility. She looks down at him, wishing she could remind him how much she loves him one more time, but turns to face the man that got lost in the power of dark magic, and all the entities that came before him.

She and Regina can at least take out a couple of these guys, maybe at least knock Rumplestiltskin out before succumbing to the dark magic that’s building around them. The electric gathering of their powers actually causes the hair on her body to stand on end, and she’s surprised the hair on her head isn’t following suit.

There’s a moment, a locking of eyes, when they make the decision to strike, and she can tell that she and Regina are on the same page. Emma nods, just barely, and Regina mimics her action, and then Emma’s focusing all her energy and emotions into focal points as she was taught during all her training. They make eye contact one more time and each inhale deeply –

Before they can do it, before they can exhale and blast out their magic, there’s a horn from the north. Less than a heartbeat later, there’s a shell horn blast from the beach they just vacated. The Dark Ones all shift, looking towards each call and looking at each other in disbelief. Rumplestiltskin twitches with each call, his eyes hardening and the smile slipping from his face.

Within moments, the circle of dark entities that had surrounded them starts falling apart. Misthaven fairies burst through the trees, taking out as many as they can with the colorful bursts of their fairy dust. From the opposite side, a force of seafolk with their magic bracelets charge in throwing liquid potions, headed by Ursula herself. They all charge fearlessly, grins on their faces as they attack as they’ve always wanted to. They know their best shot at defeating evil is standing in the clearing and that they have nothing to lose at this point.

“This way!” comes a faint yell, and Emma’s breathing speeds up recognizing Liam’s voice in the distance.

With an elated expression, she turns back to Regina, who seems just as surprised as Emma is. Chaos is erupting around them, the seemingly unbreakable enclosure left with holes and pockets, dark entities trying to run, trying to escape from their fate of returning to nothing but dust. “ _Now!_ ” Emma urges, knowing they have one shot - one chance to catch Rumple while he’s still thrown off guard.

In the middle of the clearing, Rumple is too distracted by the mayhem that surrounds him to notice that Emma and Regina brace themselves and let their magic loose. Twin blasts hit him at the same time: Emma’s white and Regina’s red wrapping around him in tight spirals. He barely has the time to look upset before he crumples to the ground, drained of his magic and incapacitated.

Around them, the dark entities are also dispatched, the last of which are taken down by fairy dusts, sea potions, and a spill of soldiers that break through into the clearing.

Moments later, the whole area goes quiet but for the heavy breathing of exertion from all involved parties. The centuries of dark ones are nothing but memories, and the last one alive is still knocked out on the ground, bound by magic and officially harmless.

Cat lands on the ground a foot away from Emma’s feet, having clearly taken shelter in a tree when the hubbub started. Robin is pushing himself to his feet, aided by Regina, her magic sweeping over him to heal the wounds he sustained from getting smacked against several trees on the route in.

“Sorry for the swift exit earlier. I needed as much time as I could to rally everyone up.” Ursula steps up to Emma, checking her over for wounds as she whistles for two men to lift the former Dark One from the forest floor. “We will deliver him to your parents immediately. From what I’m to understand, they have a special prison ready for him that will hold him even if his magic comes back.”

She moves away just as quickly to supervise, and it’s only when Cat meows at her again that she realizes that this little problem still needs to be figured out. She lifts him up, whispering reassurances that they’ll fix it as soon as she comes back to the clearing, all the while she finally catches her breath. Rumple is revived and then marched past them, and Cat hisses and swats at the man, making sure to use his blunted paw in an extra attempt to tell the man off as he’s lacking the voice to do so.

“By the way,” Emma starts as she holds out a hand to halt their progress. “The details of your stupid curse landed your maid in a crazy house, so suck on that for a little bit.”

The man looks aghast at this news, and he opens his mouth to object or clarify, but before he can utter a single syllable, Emma snaps his fingers and temporarily snaps his mouth shut. Emma does her best to subdue her own chuckling as she turns away from him. Cat gives her a look of fond approval.

As Ursula walks behind the removal of the prisoner, she clicks her tongue. “I’ll be back in a minute to take care of _that_ ,” she says as she nods at Cat. He quietly growls to express his feelings on Ursula’s humor about the situation. Emma pauses her attempts to soothe Cat when she hears a voice she’s not heard in a long time.

“ _Bloody hell_ , I don’t believe it.” _Liam_.

Emma turns, her smile tentative and her eyes shining as she looks at the older Jones. “Hi.”

He marches forward, enveloping her in a strong hug and squishing Cat between them in the process. “God, I always _hoped_ … Emma, good god, you’ve changed so much since I saw you last.” He brackets Emma’s shoulders with his hands, holding her at arm’s length and staring as if he can’t believe his eyes. “I need to see to my men, and we need to get you back to the castle as soon as possible. Are you ready to go?”

“Oh, uh.” She hefts Cat a little bit, unsure of how to even begin to explain why she needs a couple more minutes.

“You’ve got a pet. That’s okay, I’m sure your parents will delight in having a cat to wander the halls and catch mice. Poor lad looks like he’s missing a paw.” Liam reaches out to touch the leg in question, but Cat jerks it away, his ears flattening against his head as he backs away from the older Jones’ hand.

Emma definitely can’t help the snort as Cat burrows against her. “Just – Liam, it’s Killian.”

His face goes dead serious at the mention of his brother, his hand hovering above Cat’s head as the feline glares at it with wide eyes. “Is he here? Where is he?”

She looks down at the cat in her arms, and Cat looks at her before looking back at Liam and giving a defeated sounding meow. Liam tilts his head, looking between Emma and Cat and back again, the puzzle pieces all finally connecting in his mind as obvious by the widening of his eyes.

“Oh. Oh my. Well, we’ll…” He stares at Cat some more. Haltingly, he reaches his hand towards Cat again, but retracts it once more.

“So, how about we break this spell?” Ursula says as she finally returns.

“I don’t have to kiss him as a cat, do I?”

Liam’s laugh borders on hysterical as he observes their interaction, and he makes a weak excuse of having to check on his men again before he wanders away between the trees.

The sea witch chuckles, beckoning Emma to follow her as she stoops to pick up Killian’s clothes and leads her to a patch of privacy. Ursula sets down the clothes, indicating that Emma should put Cat as close to them as possible. She waves her hands, a purple inky magic flowing towards Killian, and she edges away from the clearing before Killian is fully restored.

“Nothing I need to see there,” she comments as she waves over her shoulder. “I’ll be in touch.”

Emma calls out her thanks as she turns back to Killian, who’s just struggling into his boxer briefs. She doesn’t let him get anything else on for the moment, instead launching herself at him. She smiles wide as she kisses him, making it less a kiss and more a pressing of her smile to his as he wraps his arms around her.

“Welcome home, love,” Killian murmurs when he pulls back. “Now, perhaps I can finish getting dressed. Or would you rather I reunite with my brother for the second time in nothing but my smalls?”

“No, no, please. By all means. Better than being in nothing but your _fur_ again,” she comments, scratching under his chin, laughing high and free as Killian swats her on the behind.

As she wanders the clearing, turning in a circle to occupy herself while he slips into his clothes, Emma realizes he’s right; for the first time in three and a half years, she’s _home_.

-x-

There are too many thoughts going through Killian’s head for him to really keep any of them straight. One: he’s home, back in his homeland, on his own turf, with the woman he loves holding so tight to his hand that he fears she might break it, but he’ll never tell her so. Two: his brother is but a few paces ahead of him, still yet to actually see him as human, still yet to hear his voice since the day he last bumped heads with him. Three: he’s going to see Emma’s parents for the first time since he left their room in a huff like a child. Four: he idly wonders if Snow still has the ring. Five: he also idly wonders if David will rescind his blessings when he sees what Killian has become.

He stumbles over a tree root, and Emma looks back at him curiously, noting the scowl on his face and asking without words if he’s okay. He nods, trying to wipe his expression clean and smile at her at the same time.

Truth is, he’s not okay. This is the culmination of the last three and a half years and he doesn’t know whether he should be smug or scared.

Scared seems to be the emotion his insides settle on, but he layers on the smarm in hopes of saving face when the king and queen throw him out of the throne room as soon as he enters. Out of nerves, he rubs the curve of his hook against the leg of his trousers. While his clothes are still the ones he wore when he left Storybrooke, and he has the satchel of clothes slung over his shoulder, he was able to retrieve his hook and brace from the chest that Ursula fetched for him. Someone already dispatched with the rest of the items, surely throwing them in a prison cell for him to look at as he’s locked up for treason.

Again, Emma reaches for him and squeezes his hand. They’ve reached the castle gates, and he feels half of his heart settle from coming home. The other half is already calm, already recognizing its home next to him, holding his hand.

Liam is gone from sight by the time they enter, and Killian flinches as the full fanfare is blasted out from the horns as they walk through the corridor into the throne room. The castle residents and employees line the rug that runs the center of the room, and the king and queen are each sitting in their respective thrones. Their hands are clasped in the distance between the seats, but neither of them stay that way for long. As soon as they see Emma, their only daughter, truly striding towards them, they’re both up and off their chairs and rushing forward.

Out of habit, Killian immediately puts his arms behind his back after he sets the satchel by his feet. He’s not sure if the habit is more from his upbringing or from hiding his vacant wrist from others, though. He stops, even as Emma continues forward and runs to them. They make the picture of perfect royal family, and he’s sure he’ll only taint it if he goes closer. Regina comes to stand by his shoulder, looking on at the scene in front of them, with Robin standing just behind her.

“How are you holding up, pirate?” When he turns his head and raises an eyebrow, she just shrugs. “Emma told me as much as she could at breakfast that day. You have the posture of one who is skulking, so I figured that’s what you would be preferred to be addressed as.”

“Hook, I go by Hook to my crew.”

Same as Emma, Regina’s lips quirk up and she snorts once, very elegantly, before trying to stifle it. “Captain Hook?”

“ _Bloody hell_ ,” he whispers, shooting her a look before he turns and stalks away. He figures that there’s enough commotion in the room that no one will notice him missing, in any case. Using his memory as a guide, he finds the small door at the back corner of the room, ducking through and ending up in a narrow servants’ hall. He means to amble his way back out the doors, honestly, because while he loves Emma and wants nothing more than to be with her, he would never make her choose between him and her family.

He’s so lost in his own head that he doesn’t notice someone stepping in front of him until he’s already running into him, and he struggles for a second as the arms come around him. He almost buries his hook into the shoulder he can reach but it all hits him at once. The man is Liam, and he is embracing him so hard that Killian is sure he’ll have bruises around his shoulders.

“You _stupid_ bloody arse,” Liam mutters into his shoulder, and Killian is only aware his brother is crying because he can feel the moisture soaking through the collar of his shirt. “Stupid, _stupid_ , telling us you were dead.” He pulls back, his eyes still wet but his face a mixture of heartache and elation. “Come, we have much to talk about, little brother.”

“ _Younger_ brother,” Killian automatically snaps back, his voice the same whine as it was all through his adolescence. It’s clearly what Liam was aiming for, as his bark of laughter echoes down the hallway.

“Come this way,” he instructs, leading Killian back to their wing of the castle. Liam walks him through the door to Killian’s old room, which is still exactly the way he left it minus the new hinges. The surfaces are devoid of dust, the bed is freshly made, and there are flowers in a vase by the very window he left through. He wonders just how many flowers have actually sat in that vase since he left. “There’s a matching bouquet in Emma’s quarters,” Liam says softly, noticing exactly where Killian’s gaze is drawn.

“All this time?”

“Every other week, Queen Snow comes in and replaces them, and sees personally to the maintenance of the room.”

“Are these from the meadow?”

Instead of answering, Liam just nods, a small smile left and much more sadness in his eyes. “The whole field has been preserved with magic specifically so she could tend to your rooms.” He pauses, taking a deep breath before he continues. “Brother, I have missed you. At least when you were running from me I knew you were okay, but when you told that boy to inform us of your death, I spent months in mourning. Until one day, I woke up and decided you weren’t really dead.”

“Should’ve known you’d be too clever to fall for it completely,” Killian comments. He tries to keep his voice as nonchalant as possible, but he focuses on the flowers in front of him, careful to keep his eyes clear and his voice steady.

“I followed your stops. I described you to every innkeep and bar wench I could find. I followed you to the End of the World, but the woman I ran into said she’d never met anyone named Killian. Halfway through our conversation, she got whisked away by the devil himself. I entered every port hoping to find your ship, and you alive on it. And after that interaction with the Dark One’s maid, I mentally prepared myself to bring a body home if you hadn’t been dumped at sea. I lost your trail until I ended up in Midas’ kingdom and ran into a little _friend_ you’d made along the way. A mermaid named Ariel was _very_ difficult to convince to tell me you’d seen her, but when I explained I was your brother, she told me you’d confessed that Captain Hook was Killian Jones. And my search renewed. I don’t think I stopped sailing for weeks.”

It’s so much to take in. His brother had gone to the literal ends of the earth for him, trying to find him, never giving up hope. After their last interaction, he assumed it would be to aim again with that cannon, but no, it turns out he just wanted his brother back home.

“I do want you to recall that you shot a cannon at me,” Killian says, as if reminding Liam of this incident will change anything.

“Aye, but you were being a wanker. I pretty much had to.”

Killian snorts, mentally agreeing with his brother but shrugging his shoulders in response.

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry for neglecting you for so long as my brother.”

“Accepted. I’m sorry for not telling you about Emma and I sooner. And for stealing your prized ship.”

“I hope you’ve kept all my belongings intact.”

“Everything is stowed in the back of the closets in the captain’s quarters. So, Belle got transported a couple months ago. Why did no one ever manage to find Emma?”

“We kept sending bloody emissaries to the land you were in. I had no idea you were a cat that whole time. You’ll have to regale me with those tales once you’ve had a chance to breathe again.” He pauses, barely restraining the snort that he emits. “Tales of tails,” he muses quietly. At the glare Killian shoots his way, he rushes onward. “And tell me about these interesting clothes you’re wearing, as well. And the hook, of course.”

Killian ignores everything else, skipping straight over the cat joke in favor of the first thing Liam said. “Emissaries? When?”

“Shortly after Ariel told us that Ursula had sent you over. We appealed to the giants for beans to send someone over to fetch you, but he never returned.”

Killian turns from the vase, his eyes focusing in confusion on his brother. “And what happened when he never returned?”

“We appealed to the giants for two more beans, and sent _two_ emissaries. After they never returned either, we could only figure they were being captured, or killed. _Something_ was happening to keep our people from finding you and coming back.”

“The portals, they’ve been enchanted to cause memory loss. The Dark One had it rigged so the moment a person went through it, they’d forget who they were. The curse would build fake memories in layers as the person got acclimated. I only avoided all of that by going through the waterways.”

“Well, it’s good to have you back. Even if you are a little unkempt for my taste,” the older man says appraisingly. Killian huffs out a laugh, running his hand through the much shorter hair and rubs his neck. He’s a far cry from naval regulations, but he’s not sure he can ever grow his hair that long again, feeling himself a lad if he did. “Okay, I’ve taken up quite a bit of time with you. Let’s get you back to the king and queen so they might give you a proper greeting.”

“Oh, Liam, no –“

“No, they insist. I assure you. I believe the queen has something of yours?”

Killian’s eyes go wide.

“Yes, she kept that, too. And still wants it where her ring currently resides.” Liam gives him a significant look at that comment, and tells Killian he’ll be waiting outside while Killian freshens up.

“Liam, wait.” His brother pauses halfway to the door and turns to him. “There’s one more thing we’ll need to discuss when we have the chance.”

“And that is?”

“It turns out we aren’t orphans after all.”

With wide eyes, Liam turns fully to Killian, his jaw working several times before he’s able to get any words out. “Father?”

“Not lost at sea, apparently. He looks very spry and happy, but he had no idea who I was, so he’ll need to have the curse broken from him. The whole town will. They deserve to know who they are.”

There’s a whole line of emotions that flickers across Liam’s face in the deep breaths that follow Killian’s words. There’s turmoil in his eyes, and a sadness that distinctly reminds Killian of the way his mother looked when she was told that Brennan wouldn’t be returning from his latest voyage. Maybe it’s that last one that hurts the most, because it’s a pain she never should’ve had to go through. This is yet another way that the Dark One injured his family, even if he didn’t know it at the time. He’s even happier now, knowing that man will never tear apart another family.

“I agree, brother. We’ll discuss that more in the morning. I know he’s cursed and all, but this is excellent news.” He beams at Killian, nodding again and taking his leave while Killian turns toward his wash basin.

The chest, it turns out, was delivered right to his room, and while he pulls everything out, he only fastens his earring in place, and slides on a couple of the less ornate rings he acquired during his time as a pirate. His hand glides over the various articles made of leather that wait inside, but he only finds the ribbon he stashed in his coat pocket, sliding it through his fingers before slipping it into a pocket of his jeans. Everything else gets left behind as he uses the lavatory and splashes his face with cool water. He damns the length of time it would take him to rim his eyes in kohl, but shrugs at his reflection before going to join Liam for the walk back to the throne room.

Liam, however, turns towards the king and queen’s private quarters, and Killian knows without a doubt that the first place he sees them again will be the place he last saw them. He has to stop himself from laying his hand over his chest, unable to physically restrain his heart from beating right out of its cavity if it so chooses.

-x-

Everything is a bit of a whirlwind as soon as Emma enters the throne room. Seeing her parents, her mom and dad (funny how Storybrooke left more of an impression than she thought) just ahead of her, all she can do is rush to them. And while there’s still a lag in her memories, so that it doesn’t _feel_ like she’s waited three and a half years for this moment, she also recognizes that it wasn’t just yesterday they last embraced. Snow cries, her chin crumpled and quivering as the tears fall from her eyes, and David cradles the back of her head the way he’s done for as long as she can remember.

After getting to witness the happy reunion, the small crowd in the large room disperses to allow the royal family their privacy. Soon, it’s just her parents in front of her. She looks around to see that Killian has slipped away, but Regina and Robin are still there, awkwardly shuffling and casting quick glances at the guards still at their posts.

As if thinking of the other people in the room brings attention to them, she hears Snow gasp as she looks over Emma’s shoulder.

“Regina?”

“Hi… Snow. _Queen_ Snow.” Regina is stiff, but smiling, and she walks forward a few steps toward the woman now older than she was when she disappeared. “This whole royal business suits you.” She waves her hand to indicate the room they’re in and everything it entails.

“You’re not - are you…?” Snow works to gather her words. “You look so _young_.”

“That’s what happens when you end up in a cursed town where time stands still for a few decades or so.” She shrugs, shuffling forward a couple more steps. “Look, Snow, we don’t have to stay…”

“Nonsense,” Snow says quickly, striding forward to take Regina’s hands. “I think it’ll do us some good to work this all out. We’ll set you up with rooms in the east wing.” Her statements leave no room for argument, and Regina gives a curt nod, but adds a smile to soften it a bit. “While they set up a room for you, why don’t we all go sit and you can tell us a bit about… everything.”

The reunited royal family makes their way to Snow and David’s quarters, with Emma’s arms looped with theirs, and Regina and Robin close behind. Upon entering their sitting room, she almost cries at the familiar scent, and she knows if she doesn’t keep going, doesn’t keep talking and immersing herself back into this world, that she will break down, but there’s no time for that. And it’s nothing her parents need to witness. Tonight, later tonight, when she’s alone with Killian again, she’ll allow herself the time to process all of it. Provided he doesn’t find a way to flee the castle or something.

“You’re so skinny,” Snow murmurs as she observes Emma wandering around the space. “I mean just, so _skinny_. Did you ever eat while you were gone?”

“I worked as a cop. I spent a lot of time at the gym and the rest of the time eating pizza.” At their blank looks, she shakes her head and smiles. “You guys would like pizza.”

David makes some soft comment about her referring to them as ‘you guys’ and smiles. “Twenty years of etiquette training down the drain,” he mutters with a fond expression on his face, directed at Emma.

She grins at him in response, wandering wider to look at the flowers her mother has displayed. She can sense the magic on them, and recognizes them from the field that should be barren and cold this time of year. Her fingers glide along a perfectly preserved petal as she sighs.

Even as she strolls about the room, she listens to the conversation her parents have with Regina. They both seem to be handling her reappearance better than she expected. But the former regent makes it perfectly clear almost immediately that decades as Regina in Storybrooke have erased much of the anger and malice that went along with being the Evil Queen in Misthaven. She also makes sure to introduce Robin, who hasn’t quite regained his true memories, but small tidbits keep shining through for him.

“I don’t feel as if I’m home yet, but I’m hoping my former memories will return soon,” he explains. He also tells them that it helps that he was actually transplanted into the fake town only weeks before Killian was, all because he tripped into the wrong place at the wrong time.

It’s not long before a maid comes to inform them that their room is ready, and Snow and David bid the other two goodnight with promises to talk more tomorrow, after everyone has had some rest.

And then, Emma is left alone with her parents.

On the morning she disappeared, Emma wondered a lot of things, the first of which was whether or not she’d ever see her family again. She didn’t have much time to organize the rest of her thoughts because she was immediately thrown through a portal and forgot her whole life roughly three steps later.

“So,” Snow breaks the silence, “tell us what you’ve been up to the last couple years. Memory curse, right? We used to have those around here all the time until Regina – the Evil Queen version of her – disappeared.”

“They’re so confusing,” Emma confesses, having spent a few days with alternating realities battling it out in her mind and memories. “How many sets of memories do you guys have if they were so common?”

Snow and David look at each other, before they look away again in thought. Snow holds up her hands to count on her fingers while David stares at the ceiling, squinting, as if picturing each different lifetime.

“We’ll just assume a lot,” David finally says, especially when Snow looks like she’s contemplating taking off a slipper to keep counting.

Still, it helps that her parents have been through something like this before, so she opens up and tells them about how she ended up in the forest, and how she made friends in town quickly. She tells them about her job and her hobbies and all the idiosyncrasies of Storybrooke, spending a great length of time on things like indoor plumbing and electricity. And grilled cheese, she can’t leave out grilled cheese.

Several times, Emma has to remind herself to sit still, instead of sprawling across the chair like she would if she were in the sheriff’s station. As it is, she spends plenty of time explaining the clothing she’s wearing, telling her parents all about jeans and sweaters. She realizes she looks utterly out of place in this world as she’s dressed right now, but they’re more curious than confused or put off about it.

She tells them all about Cat showing up on her doorstep, and about when he first changed back into Killian, and how the last six months they’d done little else but focus on getting her memories back. She decides it’s better not to tell them what they were doing any time they weren’t focusing on their mission, though.

“How did you remember?” David asks. “There’s not much that can break a memory curse like that.”

“True Love’s Kiss,” Emma tells them, as if there was any doubt it could be anything else.

Snow sighs dreamily. “Sounds awfully familiar, if you ask me.”

The equal amounts of surprise and pride in her parents’ eyes is comforting, and well-timed when there’s a knock on the door. The guard on duty opens it, and Emma’s smile brightens as she sees the Jones brothers on the other side. Liam leads, with Killian ducking behind him, both of them with their hands held behind their backs. Killian’s clothes may be modern, but his mannerisms are the same as ever.

It’s an obvious contrast from the ease of his actions in her apartment. Even when she didn’t know who he was, she was used to the cocky swagger he exhibited in those short bursts of time. Reconciling Captain Hook (which she still has to control herself from laughing about) with Lieutenant Jones is still a little like playing with a paper doll, as far as her memories are concerned. The man that stands behind his brother is more lieutenant, but with prominent facial hair and a nervous scowl if she’s reading him correctly.

“It’s good to see you again, Princess. Would you care to take a walk with me?” Liam doesn’t waste any time, and judging by the ambushed look on Killian’s face, he had no idea this was a plan.

“I’d love to, Commodore.” Emma rises from the chair. She goes over to wish her parents a good night, kissing them both on the cheek and accepting their tight embraces before she moves toward the brothers. She immediately forgets any princess decorum as she reaches for Killian, giving him a solid kiss on the lips and pressing her forehead to his as she tries to instill some of her calm onto him. “I’ll meet you in my quarters in half an hour, okay?” He nods in response, giving her a wan smile as she moves away.

Liam smiles at her, giving a bow and holding out his arm for her to take before they leave the room. It’s only once they’re out of the sitting room and the door is shut behind them, and they’re halfway down the hall when one of them speaks again.

“Do you suppose we’ve just fed him to lions?” Liam questions.

“Nah, he’ll be fine. Guy lost a hand and became a cat and somehow managed to steal the _Jewel of the Realm_ from you,” she jibes. “Pretty sure he can handle his future in-laws.”

Liam laughs as loud as she remembers. “Oh, how I _have_ missed you, Princess. But I must correct you. It’s no longer Commodore. I’ve decided to retire and settle a little bit. Maybe find a life outside the navy.” Now that she gets a good look at him, she realizes he’s not in the regulation navy uniform. Gone are the white trousers and ornate coat. Instead, he’s dressed in plain black breeches and a white shirt, looking more informal than she’s ever seen him before.

“I’m glad to hear it.”

“I’ve been told that I was so focused on my career that I seemed to have forgotten about my family. Since I’ve lost a lot of time with my brother, I want to correct that as much as possible. Maybe, just maybe, I’ll also find a family of my own since my dear brother seems to have found one in you.”

“He would’ve shared with you sooner, you know. But he was so worried you’d think he was throwing away his career.”

“I would’ve. I didn’t understand at the time. I didn’t understand until I was afraid you were both gone from my life forever.” He stops for a moment, turning to her and placing his hands on her upper arms. “As tragic as your kidnapping was, Princess, it helped me see that I was missing too much by being out there. I only worked as hard in the beginning because I wanted to pay your parents for the debt of taking us in. They didn’t have to, but they gave us shelter, they took Killian under their wing, they let us be part of all of your lives.”

Emma moves her hands to clasp his arms at the elbows. “It was just as rich of an experience for me. I’m sure my parents feel the same way, and I wouldn’t be here again if it weren’t for Killian.”

“And I don’t think Killian would be here if it weren’t for you,” he responds without hesitation.

They walk all the way to the other end of the castle, meandering back at a leisurely pace in order to give Killian plenty of time to talk with the king and queen, and since Killian hadn’t had much of a chance to tell Liam about his animal adventures, she gives him little bits of information. Mostly she tells him about how she called him Cat, and that his missing paw went a long way into convincing her that he wasn’t some crazy person spouting nonsense about being her pet.

“Speaking of hands,” Liam adds once they’ve almost reached her quarters. “He _does_ seem to be missing one. But that just means you’ll be offering him one of yours now, yes?”

Emma smiles, deciding not to answer even though Liam clearly knows she’ll say yes if Killian asks. “Goodnight, Liam.”

“Goodnight, Princess. By the way, you should know I’ll be on duty as guard for the first half of the night. I want to make sure neither of you go anywhere after we’ve just gotten you back.” He smiles to show he’s joking, but then he purses his lips a little. “But I’ll be way down that end. Just in case.”

Her eyebrows shoot up to her hairline, her smile growing wider as she understands the implications. “Good _night_ , Liam.”

He chuckles, even as he walks away.

Entering her room is an otherworldly experience. The quiet and stillness is almost unbearable after having lived with technology and automobiles for the last three years. But everything in the room is pristine, the bed made to her usual specifications. There’s a large vase of flowers on the table by her chaise lounge, and she recognizes almost immediately that they’re the same flowers her mother displays. She admires them for a moment, but moves on in order to do something that’s more important.

Every window, every door to her private terrace, every conceivable entry into the room is swiftly reinforced with magic of her own making. She would’ve been powerless to almost anything the morning she was taken, but now she can ensure that once she and Killian shut the doors for the evening, no one else will be able to even budge a hinge without blaring alarms sounding in the whole castle.

“Thank you, security systems,” she mutters as she draws all the curtains closed and snaps her fingers to light the candles spread throughout the room. She might miss lightbulbs, but there is a charm to being able to light and extinguish any candle with just a small gesture.

Having been promised their privacy, there are no maids to dress her for the evening. It’s fine, though, because what would they do? Strip off her sweater? Peel the jeans from her skin? No, and while it sounds incredibly appealing to leave that job for Killian, she has other ideas. She uses the basin in her washroom to freshen up, tying her hair into a messy bun after she washes her face and brushes her teeth. Then she wanders into her closet and undresses, leaving her modern clothes on the floor for the time being.

Her fingers run along all the different delicate fabrics in her closet. Even the cotton has a better consistency. She passes by each section of gowns and attire, finding her way to the very back and grinning at what she finds. Black corset, with black skirts.

He’ll either love the throwback, or he’ll run screaming from the room. But either way, she has to. She just _has_ to.

-x-

_Bloody hell, this is worse than an overnight siege_ , Killian decides the second Liam asks if Emma would like to go for a walk. He’s just been handed over to something _worse_ than pirates, in his opinion. He’s been fed to the king and queen, holders of his ultimate fate.

He’s being dramatic and he knows it.

They’re all quiet, and he has no idea if they’re waiting for him to speak first, or if he’s going to have to wait ages for them to deem him worthy of their voices. He doesn’t have to wait long; just as he opens his mouth to say _anything_ , David suddenly stands up.

“You stole one of our ships.”

As soon as the clipped words are out of his mouth, Snow sighs. The exasperated noise is one he’s all too familiar with, especially paired with her quiet words of “Oh, David,” that her husband mostly ignores except for the clenching of his jaw.

Killian swallows, glancing between the two of them and taking note of Snow’s encouraging smile before he responds. “I paid for it.”

“You terrorized the rest of my fleet.”

“Not for very long,” Killian counters. It’s not a lie; he did stop antagonizing the Misthaven Navy after the day Liam shot at him.

“We didn’t make unreasonable demands,” David says, his demeanor cracking with the simplicity of the statement.

“Not unreasonable for you, perhaps.”

“But for you? What was so bad about what we were asking you to do? In this family, we work as a _team_ -”

“Aye, a team. And every suggestion I made was thrown out the window before it could be considered. If you haven’t noticed, your _majesty_ , your daughter is back and darkness has been defeated because I followed the path that called to me. My demands were simple. I wanted to be seen as the man that wanted to marry your daughter. Not just another body that served the crown.”

“I didn’t - we never…” David throws his hands in the air and moves away from his usual perch, pacing around to the back of their chairs and back again. “Okay. I’m sorry we ever let you feel that way. But now you’re back. Will you continue your life of piracy?”

Killian considers this statement. He always thought he would bring Emma home and go on his way, thinking she wouldn’t be capable of loving the man he became. Now that she’s back, and she _does_ love him, it’s hard to say what he’ll do with his life.

“I don’t know,” Killian admits. He pulls his arms around to fiddle with his hook. The fact that neither of them even flinch at the metal attached to the brace at the end of his arm is reassuring. “Your majesty, with all respect, a life of taking orders isn’t something I believe myself to be made for anymore. I’m willing to give up the lawless life under very obvious circumstances, but I don’t see myself stepping back into the war room to be your strategist again.”

David grumbles, crossing his arms and wandering to the window to stare out at the darkened courtyard outside.

Snow, who has largely remained silent during this whole exchange, clears her throat to command his attention. “We don’t want to ask you to do anything that isn’t in your heart, Killian. And you’re right, we often set aside your perspective because we were too wrapped up in our own. Sometimes, sharing a heart gets in the way of listening to others,” she admits. David, sighs, moving to stand behind her chair and placing his hands on her shoulders. “You were always like a son to us. Emma would’ve grown up all alone if it weren’t for you, and getting to see you both mature, and then slowly fall in love, was like watching a fairy tale come to life. You still love her?”

“Aye, more now than ever,” Killian admits with no hesitation. The king and queen have a wordless conversation before Snow focuses back on him.

“What we do want,” Snow continues, “is for you to be part of our lives. Now, I believe I have something to return to you.” She stands, coming forward and reaching into her skirts to retrieve a small pouch.

“I kept it polished for you,” she tells him.

“And _I_ made sure she didn’t polish it too much or else the band would be a half moon at this point,” David adds on. A smile is just barely visible in his eyes, just beneath the never ending affection for his wife.

Snow tumbles the ring into his hand from the upturned pouch, and he marvels at how it gleams. Still, after all these years, it looks like the perfect selection for Emma.

“All other discussions can wait until morning,” Snow reminds him as she closes his fingers around the ring. She reaches up and hugs him, her arms just as familiar as he remembers them. “Welcome home,” she whispers once, before she moves away. She reaches for David’s hand as she passes him, squeezing it once and smiling at him before she bids them both goodnight.

Left alone with David, Killian is unsure what to do. He bows, thinking that the king will leave it there, but David moves around the chair that’s standing between them and stops when he’s a yard away from Killian.

“Because I still need to say it, Killian, thank you for bringing Emma back alive. Talk of piracy and stealing ships aside, there’s no way I could ever repay you for that one act.” Without warning, David moves forward and gives Killian a hug. He slaps the former lieutenant on the back a few times before moving away again. “Goodnight, Killian.”

Feeling lighter than he has in years, Killian walks the familiar path from the king and queen’s quarters to Emma’s rooms. He passes Liam on the way, this time not hesitating to initiate a bear hug with him. Even while growing up, he got all his embraces from the staff or the queen, or Emma who hugged him best of all. He’s lost over three years of the ability to hug his brother, on top of all the years Liam wasn’t around.

For some reason, as he eases towards the door at the end of the hall, that’s when the nerves hit. He’s sure the lead in his stomach won’t allow him to move further, but he manages to push open the door, shaking off a chill of magic when he turns to close it. Clearly, Emma is not joking around with security measures this time. He locks the door out of habit, walking through the antechamber and putting out candles as he goes. He enters her bedroom and closes that door, as well, intent on finding Emma.

His attention is immediately brought to the bouquet of flowers on the table, and Killian realizes it’s where the breakfast tray sat the day Emma went missing. He’s just about to fall down another hole of memories and thankfulness for being back, when Emma clears her throat.

It’s like a startling moment of déjà vu, with Emma spread across the comforter, smile in place. Her hair is all pulled up, leaving the lines of her décolletage exposed. She’s in the corset and skirts from their first night together, her legs crossed just so to hide her privates. He bites his lip against the devilish smile he knows is on his face.

“This all seems a bit familiar,” Killian says as he saunters forward. Years of experience don’t have him as shaky or unsure of what to do next, but he wants to let her lead tonight.

“A few things have changed,” Emma responds, smirk in place, fluttering her eyelashes in a coy manner.

She _acts_ demure, but he knows better. “For the love of all the ships in the realm, please tell me you brought condoms back with you.”

Instead of a response, she shifts off the bed, gliding towards him with the sheer shirts swirling around her legs. At the same time, she waves her hand, and a line of the foil packets appears in her hand. “They were stashed in my coat pocket. Just in case.”

“Always good to be prepared for every eventuality.”

“Just kiss me already,” Emma says, chuckling as she does. She twists a hand into the fabric of his waistcoat and pulls him to her, their lips meeting somewhere in the middle as their arms wrap around each other. He turns his hook so it won’t catch on the delicate materials, but doesn’t hesitate to palm her backside, feeling the warmth of her skin just beneath the fabric.

Piece by piece, she strips the clothes from his body, leaving the brace and his boxer-briefs for last. She’s seen him without his brace before; that’s not what bothers him. But this is her first time seeing it _on_. As if to reassure him, she draws her hands down his arms, linking one hand with his fingers and grasping his hook with the other.

“I love you, Killian Jones, Captain Hook, thankfully no longer Cat.”

He ducks his head to kiss her, something simple and momentary before he responds. “I can confidently say that I love you, Emma Swan, Princess of Misthaven, Deputy of Storybrooke.”

Her whole face lights up with her smile, her eyes crinkling as she releases hand and hook so she can pluck at the waistband of his underwear. “How about losing these, and loosening my laces?”

“Surely you secured this with magic, Swan. Why delay by asking for help?” She’s in the process of turning away from him, so he takes advantage to wind his arm around her middle and pull her back to him. “In case I forgot to say so, darling, you look divine in this.” He uses the tip of his hook to draw her hair off her neck, enjoying the way her breath stutters as she shifts into his erection. Her whimpering moans when he kisses down the side of her neck are also pleasurable. The sharp cry of his name with at least three expletives following is the real treasure, though, when he bites and soothes with teeth and tongue.

She loses her patience after that, finding the ties to her skirts and practically ripping them off as she moves far enough away for him to access the back of the corset. He doesn’t tease her any longer, instead pulling at the knot and loosening the laces just enough for her to be able to unclasp it without discomfort.

Emma, he’s forgotten, looks stunning in candlelight. But he gets to remember as they come together again and again, until the flames in the room all extinguish on their own and the only light left comes from what’s left of the fire in the hearth. Only then do they settle, their bodies sated, their adrenaline all spent, and no threats looming over them in the near future.

Killian is jostled awake by movement next to him. Apparently, he’s been a little spoiled by Emma’s memory foam mattress back in Storybrooke. Turns out the land without magic does have a few tricks up its sleeve. It's entirely too early to be awake. The sun isn't yet peeking above the horizon, if the back of his eyelids are anything to go by. A dip in the bed this time is what alerts him to Emma’s movements, and he cracks open an eye to watch her climb from the bed.

“Swan,” he grumbles, trying to reach for her as she stands.

“I’ll be right back,” she tells him, bending to retrieve his shirt from the floor.

“It’s too early. Come back, love.”

“I wanna go down and grab us breakfast. No matter how many times everyone kept telling us that we would talk today, I plan on bringing back enough food so we can barricade that door and stay here for at least a day or two.” As she finishes fastening the buttons, she tosses a saucy look over her shoulder. “I wanna make up for some lost time.” She bends to lift his jeans, but Killian practically leaps from the bed to snatch them up.

“Now, Swan, it’s your first day back to your homeland. Don’t you suppose we should at least swing through and say good morning?” He eases the pants from her hands, anxious to keep the pockets upright as he does so. He half-folds them, placing them down on the chaise before he moves forward to pull her close by tugging the tail of the shirt. “Of course, when you look like that, I’m hesitant to let you leave at all.”

“This early? No one will be up. No one in the kitchen. No one snooping around wondering why I have a beautiful set of teeth marks on my neck that I want to leave for _just_ a little longer before I heal them.”

Releasing the fabric, Killian slides his hand down until it rests at the juncture between her thighs. Emma gasps, pressing closer to him as one of his fingers slide inside her. “I’ll let you go, but in just a moment, and only once I’ve watched you fall apart. Deal?” The words are a husky whisper, delivered straight to her ear, and she shivers against him.

“Hell yeah, it’s a deal.” She yanks his head down none too gently to kiss him again, and it doesn’t take long for her voice to rise in pitch and volume, her fingers digging into his shoulders as she clutches on. He suspects that grip and his left arm clamped around her lower back are the only things keeping her upright. He hopes that no one is still keeping guard down the hall, or that Emma placed some sort of sound-proofing on the barrier she put around the room, as the lack of upstairs and downstairs neighbors allows her the freedom to call his name without restraint, her triumphant call of _“Yes!”_ echoing off the stone walls.

“Okay,” Killian says, still catching his own breath as Emma collapses in his arms, “ _now_ we can go get breakfast.”

She laughs in response. “Oh, sure. Now that I’m torn between dragging you back to that bed to sleep off that orgasm or cause a couple more.” She half-heartedly smacks his arm and kisses him soundly once again. “Let me get some pants on or something.”  

The satchel, it turns out, had been delivered to her room, which he failed to notice when he entered the night before. When Emma wanders from the bedroom to find a fresh change of clothes, Killian scoops his jeans from the chaise and slips them on before digging the ring from the pocket. He’s waited three and a half years for this moment. There’s no time like the present.

When Emma walks back in, Killian is on his knee, his eyes trained on the door so as not to be caught off guard. They smile at each other, even with two yards between them.

As they sneak through the halls towards the kitchen, she’s wearing his shirt _and_ his ring. They leave a note for her parents outside her parents’ quarters, addressed to Snow, with her ring inside. The Queen wisely informs everyone that they’ll postpone the homecoming breakfast until the following morning as she slides the peridot back onto her ring finger.

-x-

“What I’m saying is that the Dark One’s memory curse on the town is wearing off, and these people are freaking out.”

They’re all seated around the large table in the war room, with Ursula in attendance to explain the after-effects of finally dispersing the Darkness. It turns out, Ursula has been keeping tabs on Storybrooke for a long time to make sure nothing was going wrong with the Dark One’s cursed town. But like a sea witch, she’s kept all of her information to herself until now.

It’s been three days since they broke Emma’s memory curse, since they defeated the total darkness that was threatening to destroy more and more families. While they’ve been trying to find some semblance of normalcy since returning to Misthaven, it’s clear that they’re not done with Storybrooke yet, just as the town is not done with them. Emma’s thoughts have wandered to the little home she’s grown fond of more times than she can count, lost in the memories of sidewalks beneath her feet, snow catching on her eyelashes under the fairy lights outside Granny’s diner.

“What do you propose we do, have the merfolk bring them all back here in shifts?” This suggestion from Killian isn’t the _worst_ thing Emma’s ever heard, but it’s not exactly the best solution.

“Some of those people have been there for decades,” Regina comments. “Maybe even longer. We questioned Rumplestiltskin about the town, and he says he’s been using it for at least three hundred years. He got mad at a village for making fun of his name, of all things, so he transported the whole thing to this other land.” She rolls her eyes as she talks, clearly expressing her exasperation with cleaning up after this man.

Robin, having regained his own memories, has been instrumental in helping Regina compile all the data on the fake town that has served as its own prison for centuries. “The curse was so layered that it eventually learned on its own. It’s the _strangest_ thing, but if it were younger, they probably would have all transported back automatically once his magic stopped feeding the spell. As it is, the town has become a source of magic on its own, in a land completely devoid of magical sources. The good thing seems to be that portals won’t strip travelers of their memories anymore. We’ll have to send another emissary to be sure, of course.”

“Because magic beans are so easy to come by?” Emma asks skeptically. Last she heard, it takes an arm and a leg to get ahold of one of those. Mentally, she berates herself, and reaches for Killian’s hook on her right. Thoughts of what he’d look like in a soft flannel shirt, a cozy wool sweater, _matching socks_ , run through her head. She glances at him to catch his eye, smiling when he winks at her, and almost misses what her father is saying.

“Actually, portals might be easier than you think. We made a deal with the giants while we were trying to get to Storybrooke. They’re going to open up a trading post. It took a lot of persuading, but we did them a favor by sharing some magic from the fairies with them, so they can come to land and take part in human spoils whenever they’d like. It looks like we’ve found peace in another area of this world.”

“That’s great,” Ursula mentions, probably because that means her human transportation business will finally dwindle again, but she doesn’t stop there. “But if some of these people have been trapped there for centuries, there’s no way they’ll want to return. Storybrooke is the only home they know. Their families are long gone.”

“Well, we could always establish this town as another sector of Misthaven. I know the town, and all the townspeople. I don’t ever remember actually seeing a mayor, which means the chain of command was probably all part of the curse. They’ll need leadership. What else is a defunct regent going to do with her time?” Regina mutters the part, but in that flippant way she’s so good at. “The politics over there work a little differently, but I’d like to return to Storybrooke and run for their mayor.”

Regina and Snow branch off to discuss the fine details of what would go along with mayorship of a town as an extension of Misthaven. If any two people can figure out a good way to make this all work, it’s those two. Weird to think that her mother and step-grandmother have such a relationship and history, when Emma only knew her as her best friend.

The memory of Regina bumping into her in the hallway and claiming they weren’t besties makes her grin, especially since they went right on solidifying their friendship. Perhaps Rumple never anticipated how close they would become, and how instrumental they would both be in his downfall. The idea of Regina leaving, however, almost makes her sad. She wouldn’t expect things to stay the same after the turmoil they’ve all been through, but how is she to go on living in Misthaven when she feels like she belongs somewhere else?

Between the homecoming celebrations and her own quiet time with Killian, talks about what they’ll do now have been sparse, few between, and almost non-existent. She’s not told Killian about how she stares out the windows sometimes and wishes she could pop over to Granny’s and grab a hot chocolate. She actually _misses_ work. Emma knows she’s going to be met with resistance, but the decision is easy for her. “I want to return, too.”

All conversation ceases around her, with every set of eyes turning to stare at her with varying expressions. Her parents look shell-shocked, Regina looks confused, and Killian just looks… well, like he knows exactly where her mind is. This should come as no surprise since he knows her so well.

“But Emma -”

“But nothing,” she cuts off David. “It’s nothing compared to decades or centuries, but I’ve been there for three years. I love my job, I like my friends. My life is there. If magic beans are readily available, then we can visit any time?” It comes out as a question no matter how hard she tries to make it a statement.

“We can?” Killian says, purely to tease. She hasn’t gotten around to telling him just how much she already misses electricity and grilled cheese sandwiches. The cooks tried for her yesterday, but it just wasn’t the _same_. The easy smile on his face further tells her he already knows, and the usual look in his eyes says he will follow her to the ends of the earth if she asks.

“We can,” she reasserts, moving her hand to squeeze his forearm when he gives her a nod. “And you could visit us,” Emma states, looking at her parents. David, poor David, looks devastated at the idea of his princess leaving again. They just got her back and she’s already talking about leaving. Snow, however, looks like she’s considering it, and Emma knows if she can get her mother on her side, they can both convince her father that it’s a sound idea.

“The sooner we figure this out, the better,” Ursula reminds them. “There are people in that town that are panicking because they want to get home with their families. We need to either get them back to where they belong without draining my resources, or we need to get them calmed down.”

“How about you take us back with you when you go again? I’ll even help make a spell that will use a little less of your own magic so you can transport us easily.” Regina pushes back from the table, standing and preparing to make her accord.

They seal their agreement with a shake of their hands, rather than a signed contract. The fact that deals can be made without there being a hefty price or threat of punishment on the side is probably the best part of Rumplestiltskin being locked up in a magical cage in their dungeons. Once Regina and Robin have left the room to go pack their belongings, Ursula and the rest of the major council disperses, leaving just the king and queen, Emma, and Killian.

There’s a heavy silence over the table, one that makes her think that even if Snow is considering it, her parents aren’t happy that she plans to leave them again. Plus, it means she’s giving up her rights to the throne if she moves to Storybrooke for good. She even has ideas to pitch on how that should be handled, but that’s a conversation for another day.

“We can have the wedding here,” she blurts out. Killian turns and raises an eyebrow at her, but she barrels on. “We haven’t set a date yet, but we can always plan it to take place here. I would never want to deprive you of another big moment in my life, but I really feel like Storybrooke is just… _home_. I mean, it’s not home. You guys will always be my _home_ home, but I’m comfortable there. I’m _happy_ there. I like having a job and technology and we can visit any time if this bean thing is really going to work out.”

David gets up from his chair, pacing a few times as Emma talks, and then stopping behind Snow’s seat as she finishes. They both stare at her, shifting their eyes minimally to look at Killian as well. Snow tilts her head back to look at David, and he looks down at her, and they do their married-conversation-without-words bit before they look at her again.

“Okay,” they say in unison.

“Go back with Regina and Robin. It’ll probably help to have a member of the current royal family present while everything gets situated, particularly for those from our kingdom,” David tells her.

“We’ll start planning the wedding. We’ll come visit in a few weeks when the first bean crop is ready for harvest so we can deliver some to you,” Snow says. “And try pizza,” she adds with a wide smile, the word sounding weird coming from her mouth.

It’s hard to think she’ll be leaving them again, but hearing Snow say they’ll come visit soon makes her feel like this is the right decision. This is what she wants. And while she hasn’t _really_ talked to Killian about it, she knows that he enjoyed their time in Storybrooke enough to lament the things he’s also missing.

“Will you send word to Regina to wait for us?” Emma asks as she stands from her chair. Behind her, Killian moves his, and comes to stand beside her.

With a gesture, David draws one of the guards from the doors, relaying the message and sending him on his way. “We’ll be there as soon as we can be,” he tells Emma, accepting the hug she offers and holding her tight. He only releases her when she tells him how much she’ll miss him again, and that she loves him, and then she moves on to Snow.

Her mother is crying, of course, just barely. But Emma knows it’s hard to say goodbye so soon after what they’ve been through. She tells Snow the same thing she said to David, and includes an extra tight squeeze as she tells her how much she’s looking forward to planning the wedding when she sees her again.

A half an hour later, Killian returns to her quarters after packing as much as he wanted from his room. While he had unofficially moved in as soon as they got back, he still had to retrieve the things he most wanted to bring. And tell Liam.

“How’d it go?” Emma asks, not looking up from her own task of putting some of her Storybrooke clothes back into the satchel they brought with them.

“He cried,” Killian says, but she immediately hears the scratchiness in his voice, so she turns her head and raises an eyebrow at him until he looks at her. “Okay, fine, _we_ cried. Happy?”

“Yes, actually.” He was trying to be a smartass, but Emma’s response is genuine. She stops her packing for a second to walk over, not even hesitating as she reaches up to kiss him and wraps her arms around him at the same time. It’s a chaste kiss by the standards they’ve set over the last three days; they have _absolutely_ made up for lost time. But it’s the beginning of their own wordless communication. She doesn’t need to tell him she loves him right this moment (she’ll tell him a thousand times anyway, but it can wait another minute or two). She doesn’t need to thank him, or explain how much this means to her. She knows he would wave off any of those statements if she tried. “I’m just about finished. Any word on how long until the others are leaving?”

“And I quote, there’s not enough time for you two to go at it like rabbits again,” he says, pressing his lips together to ward off the smile that wants to creep up. “End quote.”

“Damn,” she mutters. “Oh well, just means we’ll have to wait until we’re back in my apartment with all those lovely, battery-operated toys.”

“See, _now_ I’m fully on board with going. I had just the slightest hesitation earlier, but you’ve fully won me over with this idea.” She shakes her head, kissing him once before going back to her task.

Killian leaves ahead of her, so Emma has a moment in her room by herself. It feels a lot like a heavy goodbye, even though she knows they’ll be back to visit. Even if the bean trade falls through, Ursula has agreed to help in cases of emergency. The mark for her shell is still on Killian’s arm, so they can call her if they ever need to get back to Misthaven. She turns around the room slowly, smiling at the flowers in the vase, knowing that her mother made the fairies enchant a whole field just so she could go stand someplace where Emma spent so much of her time.

Now, she’s thinking that the same meadow might make a beautiful location for a wedding some day. With that thought in her mind, and a smile on her lips, she walks out, extinguishing all the candles before she closes the door behind her.

-x-

Storybrooke is in calm chaos for weeks. Dealing with who wants to stay and who wants to leave is the trickiest bit. There are many people who, just as Ursula and Regina figured, don’t want to return to a place where their families are long gone. There are others who simply believe they fit better in a modern world than the one they were taken from. Will Scarlet, especially, says he’s a much better man in Storybrooke than he was in Misthaven, or Wonderland, or Oz… or so he claims. He _is_ spending a great deal of time at the library, but Emma has suspicions that it’s because of Belle, and not because of the books.

Most fascinating is watching the connections between the people of the town come out of the woodwork. It turns out that Ruby and Mulan already knew each other, having met as they were on their own adventures, and traveling together for some time. They’d both been attracted to the other, but far too timid or unsure to pursue the idea of _really_ traveling together. What had been a tentative start of a relationship when Emma saw them before the search party set out blossoms into a beautiful partnership.

Graham laughs, his whole body shaking with the action, when he realizes precisely who Emma and Killian are. “You’ve both come a long way from those hand-offs in the hallway. My favorite little tart thieves. No _wonder_ you always felt like my younger sister,” he marvels to Emma. Killian smiles, happy to observe the interaction. He’s been meeting the people Emma has spent her last few years with, and it’s jarring but in a wonderful way.

He’s had the only reunion he was concerned with. Stepping onto the docks yesterday to find Brennan was a surreal experience, especially when his father sizes him up. The last Captain Jones saw of his sons, Killian was barely retaining his memories. His father seemed ten times larger than the average man, so standing before him now, their statures so similar, is the hardest part to swallow. But then Emma was beside him, easing the tension he felt in his shoulders. Introducing him to Emma might be his favorite part of the reunion.

Their stories are not so unique. There are children and parents, friends, lovers, enemies who decide to bury the hatchet – all types of camaraderie all over this town that was born of petty hatred. Person by person, story by story, they sort through every resident in the town to take an accurate survey of everyone there, figuring out where each one wanted to live and shuffling them toward the piers to help get them ready for Ursula.

Shortly after everyone gets placed where they want to go, life returns to something resembling normal. Since the bean crop is just about at its harvesting point, Killian is pretty sure they’re bound to get a message any day about Emma’s parents planning a visit. The idea makes her absolutely giddy. She wants her parents to see that while they were separated for far too long, she was by no means abused in her temporary “prison” town. She talks plenty about taking them to various places in town, not hesitating to point out a new one as they walk to dinner one night, or as he walks with her to work the next day.

He always gives her a kiss on the cheek before they part, with her heading into the station and him walking the last couple blocks to the docks on his own. He knows boats and ships, so what better place for a pirate than working at the docks. His crew, all but Smee, returned to Misthaven to go find their bluer seas. He sent Smee back to retrieve his ship, but hired the man to be his first mate once more, for good over greed this time. Amazingly, Smee happily comes aboard, glad to lend out his services of finding people and goods when not working on the _Jolly Roger_.

The fair trade of magic beans and goods in Misthaven ends up being so lucrative that Storybrooke becomes something of a tourist destination. There aren’t a lot of visitors in the winter, but in the summer, there are people popping in every day of the week. It means that they have to come up with a conversion rate for gold to money, which is an interesting affair, but it works out fantastically for Granny’s bed and breakfast, and the diner. With the extra revenue, Regina begins making plans for updates and upgrades, for new construction projects and a reassessment of the schools. Everything that can be improved is given a thorough inspection by their new, watchful mayor.

It also works out great for Killian and Brennan. Since he’s already been working on the docks all this time, he and Killian start up an ocean tour business, taking their vacationing Misthaven folk out on the sea and around the coasts they can now travel to since the curse has lifted. When Liam comes to visit, the Jones family has their own day. Liam has more memories of Brennan, and so the two connect much easier than Killian initially had. But having them all together is more valuable than anything else.

When he returns home after the first night, Emma is waiting for him with a knowing smile on her face. She pulls him into her arms as soon as he closes the door, easing the tension and nerves that he managed to hide all day long. Having a family outside of Emma is still startlingly new to him, but he’s adjusting.

The king and queen’s visit is a much-anticipated event for the town. Much like a visit from any other top-ranking officials, the residents all put forward their best efforts. Granny, who knew Snow as a child before she and Ruby were sent to the cursed town, gets to host the royals as her guests. During their visit, Killian gets a taste of how it must’ve been adjusting him to modern amenities. Emma’s parents were told in advance what to expect, however watching David operate light switches is Killian’s new favorite activity.

On the second day of their vacation, Emma and Snow go out shopping for modern clothes for the king and queen to wear during the rest of their stay. In their new outfits, David looks like any other random bloke in town, and Snow looks like a perfect school teacher, her prim cardigans and soft pastels the perfect style for her demeanor.

“In another life, in this town, I think I would’ve enjoyed being a teacher,” Snow tells them after Emma points this out.

The four of them squeeze around the table at Emma’s apartment for meals, and it’s obvious that the space that used to feel adequate is no longer enough. Hand-me-down castoffs are well and good, but as soon as they start shopping for Killian and filling the closet and drawers with his clothes as well, they realize that they’re not destined to inhabit the one-bedroom apartment for something longer than a temporary stay.

Finding a house to live in is an adventure all on its own. They wait until David and Snow return home to go out looking, wanting to devote their whole attention to the task. They bicker about the details, sometimes to the point of going just beyond the term of disagreements and entering fighting, but it’s only through these interactions that they discover ways to resolve them. And make-up sex is the very best way to end any argument, of course.

When they _do_ find a house, it’s a choice they can both agree on. The process of filling the house with more than just furniture and clothes is something they both delight in. Emma has a knack for finding the perfect paintings and artwork to put on the walls, and Killian excels at finding knickknacks and functional items of the perfect style. Soon, picture frames line the walls and sit across the mantel, and curtains they picked together cover their windows.

After a little over a year of residing in peaceful Storybrooke, they head back to the Enchanted Forest to prepare for the wedding. Brennan and Smee sail the _Jolly Roger_ between the realms with the help of the magic beans and ferry guests to Misthaven for the event.

For some of them, it’s their first time back to their homeland, so David and Snow open their doors to any guests, housing all of the wedding-goers in an attempt to make everyone as comfortable as possible.

Killian can hardly believe the transformation of the flower field when he sees it the day of the wedding. Platforms and walkways, all specially crafted with the fairies’ magic, are placed over the flowers so that none of them are disturbed during the ceremony. In the center, a dais has been built up to accommodate the nuptials. With their flowers all in bloom, and the sun shining down on them, Killian and the guests wait patiently for Emma and her parents to walk up the path.

He might be biased, but she’s the most beautiful bride he’s ever seen. The dress is more modern, having been purchased in Storybrooke, but her head is topped with a flower crown made of the delicate buds from the field. The event outshines every ball the kingdom has ever held, with the reception taking place in the main hall. They spend their first night as husband and wife in Emma’s old quarters, with her magic surrounding and protecting the room again, just in case. As is the trend in their lives, this is the room that witnesses another of their firsts.

While the guests all return to Storybrooke in the days that follow the wedding, Emma and Killian stay behind to begin the first leg of their honeymoon adventure. As a princess, Emma had little chance to explore the kingdoms, so they set off on a journey to remedy that. Killian takes her on a tour of the best ports he visited. The second half of their tour is spent exploring the country that houses their new home. Storybrooke still won’t show on any maps, keeping their little magic town a secret of sorts, but the broken curse means that the residents can move beyond the town limits.

Killian is sure that their life in the Enchanted Forest would’ve been filled with plenty of excitement, but as they settle back in after their journey ends, he discovers that they’ve hit the exact amount of thrills to fit their lifestyle. Some nights they dance to whatever music comes from the stereo, and sometimes they go sailing for the joy of feeling the wind in their hair. They make dinner slightly more often than going to grab Granny’s for takeout, and they live and work and love every single day, enjoying every single moment.

And when the time is right, they get a cat.

_The End._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! xo


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